Knight Takes Bishop
by Closet Adventuralist
Summary: Sequel to Pawn Takes King. Camilla Paige is sent to tie off the loose ends surrounding a ritual involving a woman named Darcy Lewis. Soon, the strands of her carefully constructed life begin to unravel as she tries to keep the demonic presence surrounding Darcy from unleashing hell on earth. Clint/OC
1. Chapter 1

**So, this is a sequel to PTK, and it is going to explore the storyline from PTK a little further. Please enjoy!**

Camilla Paige stood at yet another door, knocking firmly. She had knocked at a lot of doors in her life, most of them very rarely open for her to step through. Waiting impatiently, she checked her phone for messages and flicked absently through her apps until someone made their way through the house to answer the massive, rather ornate, door. The place was massive and by massive she meant douche-bag levels of architecture, the building shooting up into the sky in resemblance of something vaguely phallic. Camilla shook her head, hoping this was a false lead and she could get on a plane back home by nightfall.

The hinges squeaked a little as the door swung open before her and Camilla's gaze dropped from the many floors of iron, steel, and concrete to see a primly dressed man with short-cropped hair staring expectantly down at her. She gave him a nod, flashing her electronic badge from the screen of her phone so that he would know she was legit. He let her through the door and closed it behind her silently. Camilla paced forward a bit then turned on her heel to face him.

"You called?"

The man's face remained impassive as he observed her, hands held folded in front of him in what was probably the most polite pose of judgmental appraisal she had ever seen. He stepped around her and past a large round table with flowers perched in a rather pretty arrangement in the center. Camilla kept her body loose while she waited for the brief explanation as to why she was standing in a mansion halfway across the country from her home base. She was a patient woman and in no rush for answers that would come to her eventually.

"This is a rather delicate situation," the man said finally.

Camilla nodded compassionately, "It always is."

He turned a little, stepping away, "Then you will understand that whatever you hear or see here is not to be turned in on a report."

She smirked and gave a shake of her head, "You don't work with my kind of people very often, do you? We don't write reports, and we are discreet."

"Good," the man replied curtly, his expression suddenly moved from impassive to dour. "If you will follow me?"

Obediently, Camilla stepped in behind him as he moved through several very large, very air-filled rooms to an elevator. He keyed in a code and the doors slid open with a soft swish of sound that led Camilla to believe that they were a little more high tech than your average office building. On the ride down the man, who introduced himself as Agent Coulson, gave her a short description of the events leading up to her being assigned the case. A ritual had been attempted with the blood-letting and the raging supplicant aiming to please its master. There was a young girl involved who had barely survived the ordeal, though medically speaking she was just fine. The ritual was familiar, the result of a pattern of murders that were slung clear across the state. She had seen it before a few years back, knew that pattern like the back of her hand—fifty murders and the call of the demonic, thwarted only by the skills of a single girl fresh out of college.

Camilla was impressed with her cunning as it had taken something like an army to stop it the last time around and that was with full understanding of the consequences should they fail. She had been tracking the supplicants for too long and was always a step behind, which had very nearly dulled her motivation to nothingness. The council had been convened for a month already with no decision and, with no other course of action, she had to simply keep moving forward. The others were taking leads across the region, but this was their clearest source. She needed to catch the trail quickly, or risk another cycle of the ritual coming to pass with another victim that may not figure it out so easily.

Ducking into a conference room, Agent Coulson intimated that she should sit in one of the cushy chairs around the perimeter of a large, shining table. Camilla dropped down and draped her arms over the sides while the agent left, presumably to get the girl. The place reeked of sterility and it made her itch to run her hands over the surface of the table just to ruin the cleanliness of it. Everything about the room was angles and pale, putrid paint. She couldn't wait to get outside again.

The doors of the conference room opened and a short, bouncing brunette strolled in with this wide, effervescent smile that had Camilla figuratively stepping back. This was the girl who had thwarted the invocation of a demon? This pale, innocent thing with her oversized sweater and bohemian messenger bag had dropped a supplicant all by her lonesome? Camilla had thought she'd seen it all, but she continued to be surprised by the resourcefulness of people the council would most likely deem too common to be called upon. It never failed that when it came down to the matters of life and death, most of humanity reacted much the same—that is, in the name of self preservation—there were some, however, that were a smidge more prepared than others.

"I'm Darcy," she said, her hand thrown out in front of her in greeting.

Camilla shook it lightly and pulled away, offering the chair next to her, "Camilla. I hear you've been through an ordeal."

"Yeah, got half the house blown off in the process." She chuckled a little, tossing her curls over one shoulder. "So, Coulson says you have questions."

Camilla glanced behind Darcy, wondering if the agent would always hover like a mother hen or if it was just for this one girl. It didn't matter, Camilla could talk with her just as easily if she were in a crowded restaurant. She shifted a little in her chair, and leaned an elbow on the table casually.

"Tell me what happened, with as much detail as you can manage."

Darcy could get a little off topic, but Camilla got most of the story—the murders, the book, the ritual—all of it had happened before in much that same way. She was so incredibly lucky that the supplicant this time was a little too overzealous and that there had been an opportunity for distraction. Yet, Camilla remained impressed that Darcy hadn't fallen deeper into the rabbit hole and that there hadn't been a full on demonic possession. That didn't mean, however, that she had gotten away clean. The ritual had left deep, jagged scars down the length of her arms and torso, scars that couldn't be healed by mortal means. Camilla didn't touch them, but she did take a long look as Darcy pulled up the sleeves and hem of her sweater.

"How are the nightmares?"

Darcy had the good grace to look away and scratch at the skin beneath her chin while she thought, "They're okay."

"But getting worse, more violent." They always did, and it never failed to bring the bearer into a state of depression and anxiety.

"Yeah," was the only reply she got.

Camilla sympathized with Darcy, knew the horrid things that were playing nightly in her mind, remnants of demonic memory. "Those will fade in a year or two."

"I hope so," Darcy replied and for the first time her expression dropped into melancholy so that Camilla got a glimpse of the toll the situation had taken on the girl. She couldn't dwell on that now, maybe later when she had the answers she needed.

"And the other mark," Camilla said lightly, pulling back to sit deeply in the chair.

Darcy blinked and dropped her eyes to the floor in false innocence, "Other mark?"

Shaking her head, Camilla smiled gently, "There is always one more mark, Darcy. Please show me." She was gentle enough in her tone so as to not seem like she was making demands on the poor girl, but she really did need to see the mark of initiation. It would tell her where to start looking for more information, and tell her what kind of demon they were trying to call. Most of the marks in previous cases had been marred by the final kill wound that would draw the demon out through the body of the sacrifice. Darcy's still beating heart was a good sign that the mark would be unblemished and Camilla could send the name through to her superiors and maybe bring the demon out of hiding.

Sighing, Darcy dropped the neckline of her sweater down between her breasts in a movement that, in any other situation, would have been considered obscene. The crosshatched pattern shocked Camilla so much that she couldn't help the sharp intake of breath. Recovering, she pulled her phone from her pocket and sent Claire a message to point her in a direction for research. She would need to touch base with her later, but for now she had bigger things to take care of, namely Darcy. They were far from out of the woods with this particular demon and though it chafed a little that she was going to have to work on him yet again, it didn't change the fact that Darcy would have to be protected for a little while longer.

"I'm about to say something quite shocking, and I need you to please keep calm," Camilla intoned very lightly as she replaced her phone. "Let me preface this by saying that I have been doing this a long time, and I am very good at my job. This ritual has been happening all over the world, every couple of decades, for centuries by supplicants who want to bring forth one demon or another. Everything is exactly the same, from the oppression to the glyphs, but this particular ritual is for low level demonic spirits. They wreak a little havoc before someone on my team eradicates them. However, the mark you have is no simpering force of hell scum—that's a heavy hitter you've got there."

Darcy looked momentarily taken aback, but her wide eyes soon rolled and her expression opened to amusement. "You know, I think I'm actually flattered."

"You shouldn't be," Camilla replied as her brows drew together. "You should be terrified."

She shrugged, "Maybe a little too much has happened and I lost the ability."

Camilla's eyes closed with the thought of just how much she would have to teach Darcy to get her ready for what was coming. The mark was so clear and as much as she wished it wasn't, Camilla knew that there were hard times ahead for this lively girl with her thick rimmed glasses and easy conversation. The ritual was just one step in a long line of demonic fury aimed pointedly at Darcy and Camilla hated to be the one to break it to her. Knowledge was power, after all, and Darcy had a lot of learning to do in a short amount of time.

"Darcy, that mark on your chest is the sigil of Astar, a high ranking devil in hell." Camilla let that sink in before continuing. "You've been marked for either death or possession and unless we move quickly, you won't be able to stop it."

Face paling, Darcy held Camilla's gaze for several long seconds before she whispered, "What do I need to do?"

There was a fighter inside her, which was surprisingly refreshing for Camilla when she was used to crying and wailing and the gnashing of teeth when delivering this kind of news. She wanted to laugh a little and pat Darcy on the back, but now wasn't the time for joviality.

"Hey, how you do know all this stuff anyways?" Darcy asked, sliding both legs beneath her, half hanging from the side of the chair.

"It's my job to know these things. You could say I'm a specialist in demon extraction." It was as close to the truth as she could get without completely destroying that part of her mind that found security in knowing how the world worked. Camilla had been introduced to it early, not even into her teenage years when she caught her first glimpse of true evil. Most of the population believed that demons and devils were figments of the imagination or fairy tales, which often led to their downfall. If ignorant, a single person could bring down unholy amounts of devilry unknowingly, risking not only their own lives, but also the lives of those around them.

Darcy seemed to take her explanation in stride, "You're, like, an exorcist."

"I've been known to perform a few exorcisms in my day," Camilla replied carefully, a little off balance by the semi-calm expression on Darcy's face. "It seems Astar has taken a shine to you, which is a life threatening condition."

"How do we fix it?"

"Carefully," Camilla replied after a beat. "I won't lie to you, it's really not in my nature. The best we can hope for right now is to bind him and send him back to hell. He'll climb right back out after a while and we'll have to do it all over again, but it will keep you safe in between."

Leaning forward, palms on her knees, Darcy gave her an earnest look, "_How_ do you know these things?"

Camilla leaned forward to level her eyes with her, lifting the fabric of her shirt and turn a little to the side. She exposed the scar that mirrored Darcy's marking perfectly on the apex of her left hip before dropping the hem and leaning back again. "Because I lived it. I'm still living it right now."

Darcy's jaw dropped a little as she returned her attention to Camilla's face. She nodded and twisted her fingers between her knees. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry."

Camilla shrugged, "You need to trust that I know what I'm talking about. This is going to be difficult, but I think you'll be okay." Not exactly a lie, but near enough that Camilla had a hard time pronouncing the words. Lying was not an easy task, especially when she had been brought up with the knowledge that a lie could destroy the purity of a ritual—a lie on the consciousness could derail the destruction of a demon midway through.

In all probability Darcy was not going to be okay, but she had to believe that she would be or they would certainly fail in binding the demon. It didn't make sense for Astar to choose another victim when his first was sitting right there, was still alive and still bore the sigil. She wondered if he had given up on her and moved on. Even if he had, that was no reason to let her guard down. She would need to be extra vigilant to make sure that he wasn't coming after her in a roundabout, using Darcy to bring her into the fold. Camilla almost sighed, fully aware of how paranoid she sounded in her own internal monologue.

Shifting her attention to the agent still standing placidly near the door, Camilla called out, "I need to see the room where the ritual happened."

Agent Coulson's head tilted to the side before he pulled his phone from his jacket and sent a text in silent acquiescence to her request. A few moments later, he got a response that seemed positive because he was opening the door and gesturing that they should follow. They returned to the main floor, entered the living room, and moved down the hall towards an empty section of the house that was roped off for construction. Camilla raised a brow at the hanging translucent tarps near the outside wall, which had clearly been demolished after the ritual had been disrupted.

"You weren't kidding about destroying the house," Camilla commented with half a smile.

"I know, right," Darcy drawled, "I'm lucky it didn't come out of my paycheck."

Coulson pulled some of the tarps aside and Camilla stepped through, her eyes lifting to the walls and eyeing the blood splatter. Most of Darcy's blood had to have been used to create the glyphs and initiate the ritual, so the huge splash had to be the result of the supplicant's sacrifice. She sneered at the stain, knowing it would soon be painted over and forgotten. That was how most people dealt with the remnants of evil, they glossed them over with shiny reflective denial and moved on without a second glance. She wished that were entirely possible for the girl standing awkwardly nearby, her feet scuffing the tiles while she waited for Camilla to conduct her investigation.

Kneeling down, Camilla pressed her hand to the floor near the center of the room, feeling for the resonant power. True evil always left a footprint that could be read by someone who is perceptive enough. Rising to standing, Camilla breathed deep, catching traces of leftover sulfur that would take a few weeks to fade completely. Everything looked as it should have been. Her only question was why the supplicant thought that they could call Astar with this measly ritual. She had a feeling he would be offended at the very thought of a mere blood sacrifice and chanting in his name. The vanity of this particular demon could not be understated.

"Darcy, how old are you?" Camilla asked absently while she took a few pictures and passed them along to Claire. The researcher wouldn't need a lot of information as they had come up against Astar a few times.

"Twenty five, why?"

"It doesn't make sense," Camilla asserted with a frustrated huff. She turned to Darcy and held up a hand, palm out, "No offence, but you're far too old for his liking."  
Darcy pushed her hair from her face and lifted her brows in question, "How old were you when it happened?"

If it had been any other person, Camilla might have dropped her shoulders and threatened her life, but Darcy, from what she could tell, was about as sincere as they came. The question wasn't sarcastic or facetious, just curious, and that warranted an answer in her book.

"The first time," she said, "I was twelve."

"First time?"

"Yeah," Camilla replied, "As I said, he'll climb right back out of hell and start the process over again. I was fifteen the second time, and your age the third." She chuckled a little, "I'm getting better at binding the little sucker, but he's tenacious. He doesn't like to let go of his playthings."

"I'm not a plaything," Darcy urged, her voice taking on a tinge of anger.

"Of course not," Camilla backpedaled, seeing the flaring of emotive rage in her eyes. "But he certainly sees you that way."

Coulson stepped forward diplomatically, "Are we finished here?"

"Yes, I'm finished," Camilla murmured. "Thank you."

Without replying, Coulson led her back to the living room where they sat to go over the game plan. Camilla took a moment to take in atmosphere of the room, her eyes following the pale trek of evil that had been carved into the walls and ceiling. The building would be forever marked by the damage left over from the ritual, but most buildings were nowadays. People—good people—had been taught that demons no longer existed and that magic was a toy to be used at their leisure. They had no idea the dangers is presented, couldn't possibly understand the consequences of their dabbling in the long run. She couldn't put the blame on them fully, though, because her own agency propagated that same theory to protect their secrecy. The council came to the decision that it was necessary during the last bout of witch trials when some of their most prolific potentials had been killed, set ablaze on fiery pyres, despite their innocence.

Darcy sat uncomfortably for a moment, but soon gave in to the visible urge to speak, "I'm not an expert on this stuff, but shouldn't we totally be calling in reinforcements?"

"I have sent a message to the keeper, she'll get the word out to our people. What I'm more focused on is how to keep you safe from Astar until we bind him again. It would be better if I knew why he wanted you."

Darcy shrugged, "Beats me, I'm just an assistant."

"I'm sure you are," Camilla replied off handedly, fully prepared to grill the girl for every detail of her life from birth to the present. Astar was particular about those he sought for possession or sacrifice, he liked them young—the younger the better—and he liked them in their pure form. He would taunt and cajole and oppress them until their either took their own lives or the life of someone else. In the meantime he would send vision of hell to them, separate them from their families, and disrupt their psyche. Camilla could see that he hadn't got very far in his usual cycle. Other than the scars from the ritual, Darcy looked perfectly fine, seemed to be holding it together remarkably well, and had none of the usual signs of being oppressed by the damned. It really didn't make a lick of sense, which only served to intrigue Camilla more.

A man suddenly breezed into the room dressed in a sharp suit and gold rimmed sunglasses, a tall blonde woman at his side typing furiously on an ipad. He noticed them immediately, though his attention soon returned to a small clear device in his hand.

"Pepper, am I late for something?" He said to the blonde, changing directions on a dime and heading towards them.

"No," the woman he'd called 'Pepper' replied, "Your schedule is clear up through tomorrow afternoon. You have a luncheon with marketing to work on the PR we've been getting—wear the navy suit I have hanging in your closet. They'll find that the least threatening."

"Tell me, are all marketing guys sensitive or is it just ours?"

Pepper sighed, "Wear the suit, do the luncheon, and try to be cooperative."

Mr. Coulson cleared his throat a little, drawing their attention back to the present.

"Tony Stark," the suited man said, "Who are you?"

"Camilla Paige."

"She's an exorcist," Darcy interjected with a happy smile.

Mr. Stark glanced down at Darcy and seemed to be connecting things in his head. "As you can see," he began, "Our little demon has left the building. We're not in need of an exorcist."

Camilla had been told that many times only to be called back later with desperate pleas and agonizing screams. The sting of rejection no longer phased her, though it still irked her to be dismissed so easily. She wasn't certain how much Darcy had told her coworkers and it was usually considered best practice to keep her mouth shut. Standing, Camilla pulled her card from her back pocket, smoothing the edges. She handed it to Darcy and gave her a nod before stepping out and around the couch towards the exit.

"Wait," Darcy called. "Tony, she… knew about the marks and she knew about the nightmares. She's been through this before and I think she can help." Camilla almost smiled in her surprise that Darcy would hop on her metaphorical bandwagon so quickly. But, she was definitely right in that Camilla had been through it before, three times to be exact, and of any of her teammates she was the most qualified to rid Darcy of Astar's focus.

Mr. Stark looked hesitant, his cool gaze wandering to Camilla before returning to Darcy's upturned face. "What do you know?"

Clearly, the question was aimed at Camilla and she took a moment to watch Darcy's grateful expression gather lightly. "I know that it's not over. I know that this is unusual for the entity we are dealing with. I know it won't stop. And, I know that if you don't accept my help now, the odds are that Darcy will be dead in less than six months if she's lucky—days, if she's not."

At the mention of Darcy's demise, Mr. Stark's eyes flashed with some kind of latent anger, "How do we know you're not working with them?"

"You don't, not really. But, I come from a reputable agency; your Mr. Coulson can verify that."

Coulson stood and button the jacket of his suit, "They tell me she's very good."

"I'm the best," Camilla corrected. She didn't like having to defend herself when they had so clearly asked for her help, but she supposed it was good that Darcy had such a good support system in place already. She would need it for the days to come. There would be no mercy from the demon seeking her out, and Camilla could not afford to coddle her this late in the game. Until the others arrived, they would be simply building defenses in case the demon showed up again or began the process of oppression within the house.

Mr. Stark still looked unsure, and Camilla wasn't about to spend more time trying to get into his good graces. She would prefer to have Darcy's confidants on her side, but there was no time for niceties when things could get ugly fast. Darcy, herself, was taking the news like a real trooper, which was a nice change and Camilla definitely appreciated not having to be the shoulder to cry on.

Turning to Coulson, Camilla asked, "Is there a motel nearby? I need a place to crash when I'm not, you know, here."

Darcy piped up, "She can stay here, can't she Tony?"

Mr. Stark's response was swift in the negative, "No. No way. We don't take in strays in my house."  
"Hey!" Camilla exclaimed, wondering a little at the offense she was feeling so suddenly, "Can you try to be a little less unpleasant?"

Mr. Stark rolled his eyes, "You mean a little less offensive than an exorcist arriving just a little too late while a demon rips her open?" He nodded to Darcy, who looked anxious at the rising tension.

Camilla's eyes narrowed, "I'm sorry I can't fit in to your schedule and time frame. But, if you'd like to make an appointment with the next supplicant who wants to use Darcy was a blood sacrifice for demonic invocation, I'll make sure to pencil you in."

"Great! We'll see you then."

This was going nowhere fast and Camilla's patience was thin already what with the surprise of Astar's change in tactics and the ridiculously adept Darcy making all the right moves at every turn.

"Look," she said, pressing her palms to the side of her head, "I'm not here to screw around. I have a job to do and if I'm going to be hindered at the very start, I can walk away right now. I don't think you get that I was assigned to this to save your ass but my alternate plan is now to drop you on it. Repeatedly."

Mr. Stark's eyes seemed to lighten a little in something close to sardonic amusement, "Bring it."

"Children!" Mr. Coulson called out. "We need to play nice. Ms. Paige has said that there isn't much time and we can't waste it by fighting."

"Who's fighting, this is just a lively debate," Mr. Stark slipped in while taking a cup of coffee casually from Pepper. Camilla simply shrugged and shoved her hands into the pockets of her jacket, shifting on her feet while she waited for some kind of directive from the agent.

Mr. Coulson looked between them for a moment before giving a nod of his head, "We've got a room here you can use if you want."

Camilla shook her head, "I think a motel would be better."

"I really must insist that you stay close, Ms. Paige. The incident occurred less than a week ago and the… symptoms of Darcy's predicament are increasing daily."

She didn't like the little jab of guilt he'd thrown in, but that didn't mean that he was wrong. It really was objectively better if she stayed close enough to observe regularly, and Darcy needed some teaching so that she could be prepared in the event of a relapse. In a small act of rebellion, she pretended to think about it, eyes reaching upward in false contemplation. It was then that she noticed the shining swath of magic coating pieces of the woodwork and the plaster above them. Brows drawing together, she studied the symbols that would be invisible for an uninitiated layman but, as she focused, shone plain as day against the path of evil that had touched the house. They were scattered and sporadic, juvenile in their execution, but consistent in that they were peppered throughout every surface in the room. The walls, the ceiling, the floors, even the baseboards and quarter round had a little splash of glyph thrown on them.

"Mr. Stark," she said after a moment, "I believe someone is working protective magic in your building."

He scoffed, though his eyes followed her gaze curiously. "Anything else you want to reveal?"

Camilla's eyes dropped to Mr. Stark's face, noting the tightened muscles and the strained wrinkles around his mouth. "Someone here is a witch, though not a very good one if the symbols are any indication of their power."

"Want to tell me who it is, Ghostwriter? Maybe we can get a straight answer out of them." He threw back the cup of coffee, setting the cup down hard against the marble side table.

Camilla shrugged, "They're protective spells mostly. I'll have to rewrite a big portion of them to make sure they hold, but someone must have noticed the incoming evil and set about to set up a defense. It's a novice job, but it must have protected the house a little from Astar's invasion. I doubt the rest of the building would be standing, otherwise."

"Your room has been prepared," Coulson remarked lightly, effectively ending the conversation and pointing Camilla back to his request.

She ran her hand over her ponytail, feeling the strands that had loosened around her face, "It could be weeks before I can leave."

"We're prepared for that," he replied with this irritatingly serene look on his face.

"Of course you are. Okay, lead the way."

Her room was more of the beige, but it at least had a window which she immediately opened to let the air circulate. Coulson waited a moment by the door to make sure she had everything she needed. He handed her a map of the areas she was allowed to traverse and indicated that he would have housekeeping send fresh towels and linens at least once a week. To be honest, the room was a bit cozier than she had imagined. Most of the building was filled with the smell of metal, but here she could scent the laundry detergent used in the bed sheets and the faint smells of disinfectant wafting from the bathroom.

The layout was simple, a bed, nightstand and en suite bathroom, furnished better than a lot of motels she'd stayed in on previous assignments. Not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth, Camilla sent gratitude out into the universe for the clean room and clean bed. Most importantly, she sent gratitude for the clean bathroom. She had gotten her suitcase, a faded pale blue thing that she had picked out at a vintage store, from her rental and she grabbed it on her way into the bathroom. Lugging it to sit on the counter, she slipped the locks and pushed the lid upwards. Pulling out a fresh set of clothes, Camilla threw them on the back of the toilet and leaned down to run a bath.

While soaking in the heat and tranquility of the water, Camilla went over her thoughts about the case. Darcy was an interesting girl, incredibly adaptable if a bit flighty, but she wondered how Astar had gotten involved and why he chose a victim way past adolescence when his pattern had been established for as long as his name was on record. The untrained witch in their midst was also an interesting turn of events, but not uncommon in a hub of supernatural activity. The case could be opened and shut again if she could get Astar to lurk out of his hiding spot so she could perform the binding ritual. Trouble was, Astar was known to circle his prey for years before going on the offensive and to call him forth was something she wasn't comfortable with attempting on her own. She would have to settle for asking questions around his usual haunts in the city and hoping to pick up his trail.

Ducking down into the water, Camilla held her breath and let the vibrations of the liquid soak into her bones. She would need to be focused for this, couldn't afford to get sidetracked by unnecessary connections and patterns. Astar had been hunting for her soul since she was twelve, wanting her to gain power and prestige within his own circle of demons. She had eluded him with the help of the agency and Claire by constantly moving, working her way through the globe investigating other demonic rituals and the victims thereof. It pained her to see Darcy standing so vulnerably in the line of Astar's fire. She would soon need to follow the same path, though maybe Camilla could find a way to redirect Astar's attention back to her so that Darcy might be able to live some semblance of a normal life.

**Let me know what you think. I know, I know, no Clint yet, but believe me, he's on his way. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello all! Here is the next chapter in Camilla's story. I do hope you enjoy. I've got four chapters completed and am about halfway through the fifth. I'm thinking this will be anywhere from ten to thirteen chapters all in all, but I never can tell where the story will take me. :)**

Walking the path of the protection spells took her all over the building, down sets of stairs and through rooms that were pointedly empty. There was so much space covered by the glyphs, top to bottom and left to right. It was all fairly randomly placed, the writing sometimes overlapping thus becoming unreadable. She spent so much time staring at the walls and ceiling that she hadn't noticed that she was no longer alone. A mistake that shouldn't have been made, Camilla berated herself for allowing her guard to drop while she sidestepped a low table.

The man was sprawled at the far end of the room in an armchair that had been pushed back against the wall. He held a manila folder, the pages of which he was reading intently. Knowing she had scant seconds to make a clean getaway, Camilla backed out of the room and moved to the side down the hall. Scampering off, she retraced her steps and made her way through the house again, tapping on a few of the glyphs to ignite their weak powers. It would be stupid to remove them before she had the time and energy to rewrite the spells in their fullness and perfection. And, she would need the people out of the way—best to save that task for much, much later.

Not knowing what else she could do on her own Camilla began a search for Darcy so that they could go over the basics of what she could and could not do for the foreseeable future. Astar's focus on her was going to stunt Darcy's social life a bit, which was probably going to chafe some. Camilla found her sitting in a deep pit of pillows, nestled next to a long-limbed man with short, curling black hair. At first, Camilla wasn't spotted, so it gave her an opportunity to watch their interaction rather voyeuristically. Clearly, they loved each other, and perhaps it was this foundation that gave Darcy the edge she needed to be able to defeat the supplicant without losing her own life. Love was a very powerful weapon against the dark forces of hell and sometimes it was the dividing line between living and dying by the hand of a demon.

Entwined as they were, it took a moment to figure out why their hands kept moving back and forth in a smooth sway above their bodies. Camilla's eyes widened as she saw a small ball of pulsing power being tossed between them playfully as a sort of game. She leaned against the doorframe and folded her arms across her chest, silently chastising herself for her continuous surprise when it came to Darcy Lewis. Far more than meets the eye, the girl had depths that Camilla was determined to explore her her heart's content. Perhaps it was Darcy's affinity for magic that led Astar to seek her out—the demonic were always drawn to the most magically sensitive of the population.

It wouldn't be the first time he'd tried to take an untrained witch into his clutches as he'd sought Camilla out for much the same thing. Camilla, however, had the added bonus of being a potential on top of her natural magical abilities, which pushed Astar to work outside the normal cycle of oppression and possession in order to acquire her skill. She shivered as she remembered her twelve year old self cowering in the corner of her closet while objects were thrown left and right across her bedroom with vicious intensity. As much as Astar repulsed her, he also sent cold tendrils of fear across her body in visceral waves. At twelve she had been so completely unprepared for Astar's attack that he'd weaseled his way into her body, pulling the very flesh from her bones before the council had sent Claire, fresh out of training, to exorcise him.

Stepping from the doorway, Camilla decided to make herself known to the occupants. Now that she was aware of Darcy's new proficiency, it would give her an in for protecting her much more efficiently. Magic was the cornerstone of dealing with the demonic because it was used to call and banish the entities as well as a means of protection and enhancement of their power. It was also fickle and tended to backfire rather easily if the user is off by even the most minute of details. Camilla worked with magic very rarely, preferring the harder sciences of research and investigation for fear of Astar catching her magical thumbprint and following her to whatever bolt hole she had chosen to hide in. Still, she was competent enough to draw out Darcy's skills and to help her hone them for a fight.

"I can see where the protection spells came from," Camilla said as she sauntered towards the couple.

Darcy flinched as if she had been caught doing something wrong, her hand dropping the ball of magic in her surprise. The man caught it easily and sent it away with a flick of his wrist, his eyes narrowing at the newcomer in question. Camilla immediately felt the turn of power as he silently challenged her defenses. Tempted as she was to retaliate, she had no idea what he could be capable of and it was best to keep her cards close until she absolutely had to reveal them.

"You didn't say that you were a wielder of magic," Camilla continued as she sat in a nearby chair. "That's a very good skill to have."

The man sat up so that his elbow draped casually over his knee, but Camilla could see the tension rising in his body that told her his suspicions were growing. "I do not believe we have been introduced."

"Camilla," she replied lightly, "I'm here to help Darcy get ready."

His eyes narrowed further so that all she could see was the faint slit of green, "I am Loki. What does Darcy need help in preparing for?"

Tilting her head to the side, Camilla simply said, "For the next attempt on her life. She's attracted the focus of a very dangerous entity who isn't known for giving up as easily as seems to be the case here."

Loki stood in a movement that rose from the floor like water and Camilla watched him pace over to her. "Pace" wasn't the right word for it, his steps were slinky like some large cat moving low to the ground. He stepped out of the pit, his hands rolling outward in a gesture of question as he spoke.

"What do you know about the thing that attacked Darcy?"

"Everything there is to know," Camilla answered with as much confidence as she could muster under the stunningly intense gaze he was giving her. "Astar is my own, personal demon."

His movements ceased, his body stilling preternaturally, "Did you bring this on her?"

"No." Then, "Is everyone in this building naturally suspicious, or is it something in the water?"

Darcy rolled her body out of the pit and pushed to standing, her smile wide despite the tension in the room. "Loki's just looking out for me. He worries too much."

Loki wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her firmly to his side, his height giving him an advantage in that she could not dodge his reach. "I worry just enough. For someone so small, you get into a lot of trouble."

She laughed, running her hand across his stomach so that she could hold him in a loose embrace, "Just following your lead, magic man." She then turned to Camilla, "He was, like, a complete mother hen after I got hurt. Still is, sometimes."

Loki rolled his eyes, but she could see the affection with which he held her, as if he thought she would break at the slightest touch. It was something that Camilla had experienced first-hand after Astar's initial attack. The people she held close were either too distant or stifling, no one was really sure how to treat her. She was lucky that the sigil had been placed on her skin where she could hide it easily; otherwise every family holiday would have been just one big batch of awkward.

Fixing her once again with that impervious gaze, Loki asked, "How do you know the entity will return."

Camilla shrugged, "It's part of the pattern he has. I'm guessing that he was able to break the seal between Earth and Hell with the blood of the supplicant, but that the failed ritual shot him through the veil to some other part of the planet. Once he figures out where Darcy is, he'll come back, he always does." She patted the other chair, "Let's go over the details again, from when you were given the assignment. Maybe there was something I missed."

Darcy nodded and sat across from her at the table while Loki moved across the room and pulled a book from the shelf. Though he sat on the farthest couch from them, Camilla could see the way his eyes followed them, flicking upwards from the page to keep a constant watch on their exchange. While she appreciated his care for Darcy, Camilla couldn't help but to roll her eyes a little. There was no reason for the group to be suspicious of her, what with her credentials and the reputation of her agency. But, she supposed that they had been exposed to the demonic in probably the most sensational way and that was bound the make them a little jumpy. Their cautious attitudes only served to contrast with Darcy's seeming carelessness. She accepted Camilla's role as her teacher willingly, was compliant with all requests she'd made of her so far, and seemed genuinely ready to take on the challenge. Camilla was grateful for the relief of having to deal with denial and wailing.

As she listened to the story once again, Camilla stopped Darcy once or twice to ask questions.

"Where was the book?" It disappeared.

"Have you investigated the doctor's office lately?" No, we're mostly still recovering. "

Has the paranormal activity stopped in the house?" As far as we know.

Things seemed to have gone back to normal, but that was a deceptive reality. If they dropped their defenses now, it would only give Astar the opportunity for the element of surprise. Camilla was determined to prevent an ambush, if she could help it.

Leaning back in her chair, Camilla crossed her arms and sighed, "Well, I guess we will start with the doctor's office tomorrow. I'll make an appointment during the day and we'll, I don't know, pretend to get lost or something."

"Cool," Darcy replied, "Can I wear a disguise?"

"If you want," Camilla replied. "But wear jeans and a t shirt or something, in case we have to run."

Darcy's expression was eager, almost child-like in its freshness, and it made Camilla smile fully for the first time in quite a long time. She shook her head, and shooed the girl away, letting her get back to canoodling with her lover. Heading back to her room, Camilla sent a message to Claire, who had been silent since she arrived in the mansion the previous day. She wondered if the service on her phone was affected by the insanely thick walls, but she had all her bars and her apps seemed to work just fine. Throwing the phone onto the bed, Camilla paced the length of her room a few times in thought. She would case the doctor's office, see if she could find the map Darcy had spoken of and maybe get a few more clues along the way. It was a good, solid plan, but Camilla knew that even if they found out how the supplicant had chosen Darcy the demon was another matter entirely.

Sliding her suitcase from beneath her bed, Camilla reached in and pulled out her journal. It was the only receptacle she had for all the things going on in her life since most normal people—that is, anyone who hadn't been exposed to the demonic in their lives—would lock her up for the things she had seen and written about on the pale pages. There were several more just like it, black with a sturdy hardcover and simple lined leafs, along the length of one of her shelves at the office. They had exceptionally tight security there in the belly of the earth and she felt safe storing them there while she was away on business. Occasionally, Camilla would go through them and read her thoughts from years back, stunned at how angry she had been with the world. Then, she would set the journals aside and be thankful that she had managed to make it to thirty without getting herself killed in some reckless attempt to end the craziness happening all around her.

Claire had been a great help during her formative years, offering advice and swooping in at just the right minute to take over when Camilla would have faltered. The keeper was the only member of the team to start out in her position and to live to the ripe old age of thirty seven. Most of the potentials died before they could make it past their twenty fifth birthdays, some didn't even make it through training. Camilla pulled up the edges of her sweater to reveal the glyphs along the back of her forearms, the tattoos given on her eighteenth birthday. They were the marks of the potential that had completed training and was a fully fledged Guardian, slayer of demons, and keeper of the balance. The ink had been mixed with some powerful potions to create a binding and protective force that, unfortunately, also drew the eye of every unnatural thing in a ten mile radius. Camilla had been fledged for two days before coming to understand that simply walking the streets of crowded cities was no impossible to do without some kind of escape plan or cloaking. Thank god for online shopping, or she'd never be able to replace her often ruined wardrobe.

After jotting down a few notes about Astar's return and her uncertainty about Darcy's sanity, Camilla closed the journal and returned it to its hiding place. She then glanced at her phone once more in a vain attempt to see if Claire would return her messages. Knowing that the keeper was very busy, increasingly so, she decided she would try to be as patient as possible. Camilla had a skill for patience, could wait out any entity that sought to catch her off guard. It had come in handy during her training for interrogations, though not so much in hand to hand combat. She didn't like fighting, didn't like the immediacy of it and the constant need for awareness of one's opponent. Camilla always thought it best to lie in wait, coiled like some cunning cobra, until her opponent had to make a move. Seizing upon their own impatience, she could take them down with much less work than if she were in an actual hand to hand fight.

With a big day ahead of her, Camilla changed into a pair of yoga pants and a tank top before sliding into bed. Flicking off the light, she rolled to her side and settled into her pillow with a contented sigh. Thoughts of the case swirled around in her head for a long time, until her mind grew weary and she dropped into unconsciousness. She didn't know how long she was sleeping for, but quite suddenly Camilla was wide awake and tossing around trying to get comfortable again. Pulling the sheets to the side, she tried one leg thrown over the comforter, hair pulled away from her neck, resting on her back, side, and stomach, none of it seemed to work. She was awake and would remain so for an unknown amount of time. Lying there in the darkness, Camilla stared out of the window at the trees as they stood like sentinels in the night. The wind wasn't blowing and the air both inside and outside was unmoving and static. Nights like these were perfect for walking the streets as most people found them too stifling and muggy, thus, remaining inside. She didn't dare leave the building and try to trek the grounds alone, however, as she had not yet figured out how the security system worked, though she was sure something had been put in place.

A growl sounded from her stomach, reminding her that she had not yet had dinner and the uncomfortable emptiness in her abdomen needed easing. Rising, Camilla grabbed a zipped, hooded sweatshirt and pulled it on as she slipped her feet into a pair of flats. The kitchen was a familiar walk down the hall and through the living room, though she had never actually been inside it. Like the rest of the house, it was technologically advanced, with matching black and stainless steel appliances. A large island dominated the center of the room, expanding the counter space so that there could be enough space to make meals fit for a banquet. It was also, like the rest of the house, a little too sterile as if it had never quite been broken in by a proper cook.

Camilla pulled open a few cupboards and checked the refrigerator, her suspicions confirmed. There wasn't a lick of food in the house, not even a forgotten can of peanut butter or half used bag of rice. Eyebrows drawn together, Camilla's shoulders slumped as she opened a few more drawers and cabinets. Even the pantry was empty of anything but pots and pans that looked pristine.

"Why isn't there any food in this house?"

"I believe I can answer that," came a voice from somewhere above her head. Camilla shrieked and backed into the nearest wall, her eyes frantically searching the room for the person speaking.

"Who the hell is that?" She called out as she edged towards the exit.

"I am called JARVIS and I am the AI that runs the building for Mr. Stark. There is no food brought here because most of our occupants have their own kitchens."

Camilla blinked, "AI? You're a robot?"

"I am a computer program," Jarvis replied.

"Oh," she said with a slight shake of her body, returning her muscles to looseness. "Okay, so no food. My room doesn't have a kitchen, do you think Mr. Stark would mind if I used this one?"

Jarvis' reply was indulgent, "As he had never entered this room, I think we can safely say you may use it at your leisure."

"Great," Camilla answered, a little befuddled at having a conversation with a robot. But, it wasn't the strangest thing she'd done, so she figured she could let that anxiety pass a little. "Where can I get some food?"

"There is a twenty four hour market about two blocks from the premises. Take a right as you exit the driveway and it will be on your left."

"Thank you," Camilla said as she left the room, her mind switching to the mission of getting some proper food before her stomach imploded. Her body had a naturally high metabolism and she burned through her fuel pretty quickly. All of her kind had that quality and she never really wondered about it enough to ask why. She supposed it was a result of her bloodline and genetic structure, the two aspects that predetermined whether or not a person was a potential for training.

After running back to her room to grab her wallet and keys, she slipped out a side door and skipped to her car. Throwing her wallet into the passenger's seat, Camilla started the car and worked her way through the directions Mr. Stark's stunningly lifelike robotic butler had given her. The supermarket was like any other, though she made it in and out in what had to be record time due to the late hour. Securing her groceries in the trunk, Camilla turned and scanned the near empty parking lot, a habitual quirk driven hard into her during training as a means of self protection. She made sure to set her eyes on the shadows and catch any movements of the all too still night. Satisfied that nothing and no one had followed her, she schlepped into the car and made her way back to the mansion.

Once inside, she carried her newly acquired food into the unused kitchen, setting it out neatly on the island for inspection. She had enough to carry her through the week, possibly more if she was frugal, not that it really mattered. Camilla had use of a company card for her food and lodging and she had long since passed the point of feeling guilty for using it. If she ran out of food, she would simply buy more and that was all there was to it.

Putting away the unnecessary items, Camilla rifled through the cabinets until she found a large mixing bowl, a blender, and a skillet. Into the bowl went oatmeal, cottage cheese, cinnamon, honey, sugar, eggs, and a little milk, and into the blender went the mixture. She pulsed the blades until the oatmeal ran smooth before preheating the skillet. As she turned to search for some kind of nonstick spray, Camilla caught a shift of shadows in her periphery. Tensing only for a moment, she followed through on the movement already in place, turning towards the knife block in case she needed a weapon. From down the hall, a man appeared, striding very slowly as if he knew she would spook easily. She recognized him as the man she'd walked in on earlier that morning from his sandy hair and the arch of his shoulders. Still, there was no need to feel relief yet, she didn't know what he wanted.

Her gaze must have been very direct, because he began speaking just before entering the room, "Heard some movement, and just came to check it out."

Camilla nodded, easing away from the cabinet, "I couldn't sleep…and I was hungry."

Cool eyes dropped off and to the side to inspect her ingredients, "Oatmeal?"

"Yeah," she breathed, feeling inexplicably embarrassed at her granny-esque food choices. The feeling was quickly dismissed, however, because she like oatmeal and anyone who had a problem with it obviously was making it wrong. "I'm making, um, oatmeal pancakes."

Both brows lifted in surprise, "Really?"

"Uh huh. Are you hungry?" Camilla had made enough for two, if the pancakes themselves were fairly small, but she wasn't going to share the extra syrup. It was hers, and syrup was sacred. Honey, too, if she wanted to get technical. Shaking herself, Camilla set to work testing the readiness of the pan before scraping some of the mixture out of the blender and plopping it on the heat, followed by two more dollops to the left and right.

"I'm Clint," the man said, taking a seat at the island.

"Camilla," she replied absently, while she looked for a spatula. Really, it would have been more efficient to find it before setting the batter on the griddle, but she had been distracted by the visitor. She could admit to herself that he was attractive, but Camilla had seen what a pretty face could hide. He was also making every effort to appear nonthreatening, walking in slowly, announcing himself, and taking the seat on the far side of the island. Perhaps she had been doused with whatever made the people in the building question every motive because even though she really did appreciate the effort, she still wanted to know what he was after, if anything.

"Where did you learn to make oatmeal pancakes?" He asked conversationally. She could see him out of the corner of her eye, touching a few of the boxes on the island curiously, probably trying to figure out what was in batter.

Camilla shrugged and resisted pulling the sleeves of her sweatshirt up as the heat rose to color her face and neck. She didn't want him knowing about the tattoos, didn't want anyone knowing about them just yet, as they told far more about her than she wanted as public knowledge. "A friend taught me on the road. I wasn't eating the best kinds of food, mostly diner stuff, and it was affecting my performance."

"Any good?" When she glanced up at him in question, he continued with a charming smile, "Just want to be prepared."

"The texture will take some getting used to, but there's syrup over there and that should help if sweet is what you're aiming for."

He laughed lowly, "Sweet is always what I'm aiming for."

Frowning, Camilla wondered if he was flirting with her or if there was something else in the suggestion of his tone. Without a lot of experience in the area of men (demons tended to take more of her time than anything else and they didn't really have a gender, though they chose whatever form suited them best and sometimes they appeared male or female), Camilla had to let the comment slide by plating the pancakes and setting them on the island for Clint. She poured more of the batter into the skillet and leaned hip against the counter to observe his first bites.

Clint reached for the syrup first, dousing the plate so thoroughly that she almost called him on it, wanting enough for herself. She held back out of some latent form of courtesy buried deep in her consciousness. He cut a portion off of the stack and popped it into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully and a little dramatically for her benefit.

Smirking, she said, "Texture, right?"

He shrugged, "Not bad, for oatmeal."

Flipping the pancakes to cook the other side, Camilla asked, "So, I assume you work for Mr. Coulson's team. How do you like it?"

Even though she couldn't see him directly, Camilla could practically hear the shrug in his voice, "It pays the bills, and I get hone my skills while having a little fun on the way."

Ah, she knew that feeling. There were times when Camilla could be bored to tears on assignment, but most days were exciting because she could use her own personal repertoire of abilities to lay low some arrogant piece of shit demon who thought to possess a human being. Seeing the look on their faces as the entity left their body, the relief and the joy, was enough to get her through the rough moments, the indecision, and the occasional bouts of fear.

"What are your skills?" Camilla ventured as she plated her food and turned off the burner, setting the skillet aside to wash later.

Clint's eyes narrowed ever so slightly and she thought, for a moment, that she might have crossed a line with her question. But, that charming smile returned and with a flash of teeth he replied, "Marksman."

"Oh," she said, pouring a hefty amount of syrup over the pancakes. "And, you're the best, right?"

The smiled widened, "Absolutely." Then, "Quid pro quo, what do you do?"

Camilla took a bite while she considered her answer. Just because he was working for Mr. Coulson didn't mean he was trustworthy, but she hadn't exactly been secretive with anyone else about why she was here. Yet, there was something about him that made her a little more cautious. Clint was…she didn't know what he was, but it made her stop and think for a minute. She wanted to choose her words carefully, wanted to move in a way that wouldn't give away her own inner nature, which was very much a new thing for Camilla. Hiding was something she was very good at, but being evasive or having the urge to outright lie was not.

Realizing that she was taking a little too long to reply, she cleared her throat, "I'm here to help Darcy deal with the aftermath of what happened."

"You mean the…" He held this hands up in a gesture that was vaguely reminiscent of 'Thriller', "thing."

She laughed, "Yeah, that thing."

He nodded, "She needs it. Kid's been having some pretty intense nightmares."

"I know," Camilla whispered, "I hate it for her, but these things do tend to leave something behind when they happen."

Eyes flicking up to her face, Clint fixed her with an expression that was equal parts earnest and piercing, "Can you fix it?"

"I can try," was the only answer she could give. "It will take time."

Clint's smile returned and Camilla felt her chest tighten strangely as the ease of his emotions. "Good," he said with finality. "Means I'll see you around."

Unsure of how to respond, Camilla simply nodded and cut off another piece of pancake, pushing it around the plate. "I suppose you will."

He rose from the barstool and touched the countertop by his plate, "Thanks for the oatmeal."

"You're welcome," came her immediate reply, but he was already striding out of the kitchen, his shadow following along behind. She watched that shadow go until the hall was only filled with the faint light of the floor lamp and then set about working to clean up her mess. By the time the pans were scrubbed and the food stored, Camilla began to feel that first pull of heaviness. Giving in to the fatigue, she made her way back to her room and threw her body onto the bed, clothes and all.

The next day started a routine that would continue for most of her days at the mansion—she rose, showered, dressed, and went in search of Darcy. She found her in Tony's lab after having to present two forms of identification to the guards standing just outside the elevator. Darcy waved from her seat in front of a very complex computer system, pushing at the rims of her glasses as they slid off her nose.

"Hey Camilla, ready for some detective work?"

Camilla pulled her hair up into a ponytail as she walked, "Ready when you are."

Hopping up, Darcy slid a stack of clear sheets over to the opposite side of the desk, "Here, boss, gotta run for a bit. I'll be back after lunch."

Tony spared her only a small glance, his expression very nearly petulant in his blatant disregard for Camilla's presence. They hadn't spoken since that first day and she figured that was by Tony's design because he really didn't seem to like her very much from the looks she was receiving, when he chose to send her one. Shaking her head, Camilla walked with Darcy out of the lab and back to the elevator at the back of the hall.

"So," Darcy said, rolling onto the balls of her sneakered feet. She had worn, as Camilla had asked, a pair of worn jeans and a plain white t-shirt. Her hair was braided in some kind of complex pattern down the length of her back and even though her glasses continued to slide off her face every other aspect of her dress was meant for practicality. "What's the plan?"

"You're my daughter and we're getting you checked for pregnancy," Camilla answered confidently. For this investigation, they were walking in a little blindly, but most doctors' offices were shaped in a similar fashion and she had a knife strapped to her ankle just in case. Camilla had never had to take down a human being before outside of the occasional supplicant, but she was sure that if it came down to it, there would be no hesitation.

"Just like an episode of teen mom, but aren't you a little young to have a daughter my age?" Darcy said with a smile and a wink.

Camilla scoffed, "The apple doesn't fall far from the tree."

"Sweet."

They took Camilla's rental to the offices even though Darcy recommended they take one of the company cars. The sleek black fleet of vehicles was a temptation, but Camilla was pretty sure a working single mother who had a grandchild on the way wouldn't drive an Audi, no matter how good the child support had been. Parking, Camilla made her way into the building with Darcy, and signed them in under a false name for which she had a faux insurance card. She hoped they didn't ask for identification, though Darcy could possibly pass for fifteen if she slumped enough.

Taking her seat in the waiting room, Camilla held up a magazine and pretended to read while scoping out the nursing staff. They were all leggy blondes or brunettes, which wasn't exactly uncommon if the doctor was a misogynistic asshat as some doctors tended to be. But, they were all going about their business in a way that indicated to Camilla that they at least were trying to seem like a real medical office.

After being called back, Camilla took time while they walked down the hallways to count the doors and to peer into as many as possible. Most were patient rooms and a couple were offices that she would need to check out in a few moments. She went along quietly while they took Darcy's weight and height, writing it down on a chart they had started for her. Once ensconced in a patient room, they asked all the normal questions: What was she in for? Pregnant? How far along? You must be very excited? Oh, not excited, I see. Shall we get your temperature?

When, finally, the nurse left them to wait for the doctor, Camilla sighed and stood from her chair. "I'm going to check out that line of offices, see what's inside."

"Okay," Darcy replied, eager. "What do I do?"

"Sit here and pretend to be pregnant." Camilla turned from the open doorway, "Distract the doctor, if you need to."

Darcy flicked a small strand of hair from her cheek, "Awesome. Do we need a super secret signal or something?"

"If I'm running, you should probably run," Camilla retorted, rolling her eyes and waving as she stepped out into the lonely hall. Closing the door behind her, Camilla tip toed down to the first office and tested the knob—locked. Debating for only a second, she called on what little magic she had available to her and turned the lock on the other side. Sliding into the room, she did a quick perimeter scan, noting that the office seemed to be unused. After checked a few of the cabinets and drawers, she listened at the door for footsteps and then locked the room before moving on to the next. Camilla went through two more rooms in much the same manner before entering a room that gave her pause.

On one side was a corkboard that was sprinkled with little holes across the surface, though the actual board was completely empty. She fingered the demolished cork for a moment before moving back through the room to the desk. It took a little work, but she managed to pry open one of the drawers, stooping to see what was inside. Eyes narrowing, Camilla reached in and pulled out a pile of papers and pictures that seemed hastily thrown into the drawer as if as an afterthought. She rifled through them for a few moments, noting the numerous pictures and scribbles. As she was about to throw the mass back into the drawer, Camilla caught the edge of a familiar smile. Darcy Lewis looked back at her from a small candid shot from across the street. She was window shopping with some girlfriends along a strip mall, looking happy and healthy. Dropping her head, Camilla pulled the rest of the papers from the drawer and shut it, tapping them along the edge of the desk to line up the edges.

Darcy was coming out of the exam room as Camilla stepped from the office. Pulling the door closed quickly, but quietly, Camilla stepped up to her holding the papers behind her back and smiling at Dr. Asshat.

"What did I miss?"

The doctor placed a clipboard under his arm and ran his hand through his hair, "Well, I'm sure you'll be glad to know your daughter isn't pregnant."

Sighing in mock relief, Camilla leaned against Darcy and pushed the stack into her open purse, grateful that the girl had a penchant for oversized satchels. "Oh, thank god." She gripped Darcy's arm, speaking quickly and loudly as she pulled her through the hallway, "You're grounded young lady, until you're thirty. I don't want to see you around that boy ever again."

Her lecture trailed off as they moved through the waiting area and into the parking lot, their pace unstoppable until they were safely in her car. Even then, Camilla started the engine quickly and put the car in gear, wanting to be as far away as possible when they figured out that she'd pilfered from them.

"Take a look at what I put into your bag," Camilla said while she navigated the streets, one eye carefully watching her rearview.

Darcy shoved her hand into her bag and pulled out the stack, sifting through it with interest. "Hey," she called out excitedly, "I've seen this stuff before."

Camilla shot her a sidelong glance, "You have?"

"Yeah, when Loki and I broke in there. That's where we got the book."

Blinking a few times, it took a minute for Camilla to catch up to the thoughts whirling around in her head. She pressed her lips together, squinting at the windshield as this feeling of incredulous shock descended. _Of course,_ Darcy had seen it before. It was a major plus for the investigation, but there was this niggling feeling of 'it was too easy' hanging around at the back of Camilla's mind. She pulled into the driveway of the mansion and as soon as she could find a parking spot, she cut the engine and turned to Darcy, eyeing the girl carefully.

"Can you remember how the information was arranged?"

Darcy chuckled with mischievous amusement, "I can do you one better—I got pictures."

**I'm having a little trouble pinning down how I want the characters to relate. I usually look for a few kinds of relationships-those that are combative, those that challenge, those that nurture, and those that bring out the worst. There will definitely be a little of all of these in this story as Camilla relates to not only the Avengers but also to her own team. **

**Let me know what you think. Reviews=LOVE.  
**


	3. Chapter 3

**Alrighty, then. There's a little more interaction between Camilla and Clint in this one. Please enjoy!**

The spent about three hours reassembling the map of data at the back of Tony's lab the following day, Camilla sipping tea brought to her by the enigma that was Dr. Banner and dodging Tony's evil eye. As the information formed into a thought map, Camilla tried to piece together the intention of the maker. If she could just figure out what the supplicant was going to ask for after the sacrifice, she might be able to figure out why the demon had taken notice. She peered at it for a long time, until her eyes were dry and she had to blink several times just to be able to refocus.

Darcy sat next to her in a swivel chair, swinging her legs left and right in boredom. She bounced around to get comfortable, staring at the board with her nose scrunched in thought. Camilla shook her head lightly and returned her attention to the pictures tacked onto one of Mr. Stark's high tech gadgets. There were images of the victims, notes scribbled on napkins and torn notebook pages, and a couple of symbols she didn't recognize etched over the glyphs to call demons. They were what made her apprehensive about moving forward with any theories. She used her cell to take a couple of pictures and sent them to Claire, hoping the keeper would start answering her messages. It really wasn't like her to take so long in the reply as she was fairly compulsive about checking her messages.

Moving to stand so that her nose was inches from the pictures, Camilla scanned the images with fine detail, working from left to right and leaning down when necessary. She touched them, trying to draw some latent energy from the paper and finding none. It had been far too long since they developed for the power held in the image to hold firm, and so she had to settle for taking in the forms depicted on their own. Tracing the edges of one of the photographs, Camilla's brow furrowed as she caught the edge of a familiar sigil peeking out from the torn torso of one of the victims. Holding one finger over that picture, she leaned over and looked at the next in line, finding the sigil again and again as she worked through the rest of the victims. Sometimes it was only a single scratch, others had it buried deeply in their chest—so deeply, in fact that it was carved into the bones of their rib cage.

"Well," Camilla murmured, "That's interesting."

Darcy perked up, "What's interesting?"

Waving Darcy over, Camilla pointed out the sigil on a few of the pictures, "Looks like the demon was involved from the start on this one. It's funny, really, because mostly the supplicant does the dirty work. Astar had to be present in every murder for the sigil to be created, it has to come straight from his reservoir of power."

Pushing up the frames of her glasses, Darcy squinted at the board, "Maybe he needed them for something."

Camilla glanced at Darcy carefully, her expression urging further explanation.

Shrugging, Darcy continued, "Like, maybe he was using the murders, the bodies, to accomplish something bigger."

Tilting her head to the side, Camilla thought about it, wondering if Astar was using the ritual to turn their heads from what he was actually planning. She shook her head; he was devious but didn't have the self control or patience for something this complex. Astar's main concern in life was enhancing his power and gaining strength to burn his way into a higher rank in hell. The vicious treatment of humanity in the wake of his wrath was more like collateral damage than any serious intent to cause harm. Yet, these murders were clearly intentional and Astar had wanted to be there when they died, had wanted to burn his sigil into them. Marking a human during death was not uncommon among the lower demons as it gave them a burst of power feed their darkness, but Astar was so very beyond those kinds of practices. Any power he would get from these deaths would be minimal, at best, and might even slow him down.

Hands on her hips, Camilla stepped away from the board and moved back to her chair, dropping onto the cushion feeling tired. She was so sick of dealing with Astar's bullshit, so tired of tracking him down and throwing him back into hell over and over. There were other things she needed to be doing, other demons that needed to be exorcised from the face of the earth. The team couldn't afford to have her lollygagging with this one enemy that just wouldn't go back to hell and stay there.

"Okay," Camilla said, turning a little to pick up her tea and holding it to her chest. "All signs point to the demon harvesting human souls, but for what purpose?"

Darcy slumped into the chair next to her, head falling back so that she could stare at the ceiling. She sighed loudly, rubbing at her face a little as she contemplated the intentions of a demon. Camilla watched her for a moment, amused and grateful for the sounding board. Though Darcy had absolutely no experience with the supernatural, she was catching on really well and it was incredibly refreshing to have someone working with her that wasn't completely jaded by their life experiences. Together, they worked silently on the problem, each taking their own mental path.

"You know," Darcy said, rolling her neck so that she could look at Camilla. "It's really amazing that they haven't given this to the Avengers by now. But, I suppose that's because we haven't figured out who the enemy is."

Camilla blinked, uncomprehending. "Who are the Avengers?"

The shocked silence that ensued made her more curious, as any idea that could pull the undeniably incredulous expression from one Darcy Lewis was worth looking into. She shrugged, sipping her tea patiently while Darcy seemed to reign in her excitement as she prepared the answer to Camilla's question.

"_How_ do you not know who they are? They're totally superheroes and they save the world and everything. I mean, they have their own Youtube channel and everything."

Darcy rushed over to her desk and pulled up the internet on one of the larger screens, her fingers flying over the keyboard. Camilla settled deep into the soft cushion of the chair, folding her legs beneath her while she waited for the video to buffer. What followed made her glad that she had tucked the tea close to her body because she certainly would have dropped it otherwise. There were objects flying everywhere and so much debris that it took her a minute to really figure out what was going on. It appeared that the Avengers were a team of fighters that had protected the city from a recent attack of… robotic alien invaders. Wowed by the events playing out before her, Camilla smiled at the screen, feeling exhilarated despite her own training and skills. They were simply amazing, coalescing into this massive machine led by a guy in a blue leotard.

Moving quickly across the ground, the camera flashed with a familiar mop of hair that had Camilla leaning forward. Clint was firing arrow after arrow, taking down enemies left and right, his face a mask of determination and focus. She stared at him as he worked through the fray, dodging debris and using an unusual choice of weaponry to protect his team as well as himself. His movements were forceful, which belied his quickness and agility. Camilla admired how controlled he seemed to be in battle when she had seen others who may have seemed to match his caliber weaken. Clint had every muscle, every arrow, under absolute control and it stunned her that the flirtatious man she had spoken with in the kitchen and the man on the screen were one and the same.

Far too soon, the camera switched to a large, hulking mass of green muscle bounding around on top of a flying, well, it looked like a flying centipede. Her jaw dropped as it took down more enemies in a single blow than she had ever seen. Another took over for a moment, a man who seemed to be wear a suit of armor complete with an arsenal of rockets and a built in jetpack. Camilla, impressed, made a noise of approval while she watched.

Darcy leaned over, "Tony built another one of the suits, this one's like five times faster."

"Mr. Stark?"

"Yeah," Darcy replied, "That's Tony in that suit up there. And, Dr. Banner is the green guy—who is totally nice once you get to know him." She proceeded to point out the other members of the team, highlighting their best attributes and skills. All in all, they had two demi-gods (her Loki was a badass), a superhuman, two very skilled Shield agents, Dr. Banner, and Mr. Stark. Together, they were a team of fighters that were assembled by the government to take down the largest of the earth's enemies. Camilla couldn't wait to show Claire, knowing her mentor would absolutely adore the idea as she was always working to make sure her Guardians worked as a team.

Darcy shutdown the computer, returning to her spot near Camilla with a smile that had spread wide over her face. "I can't believe you don't know anything about this. It was all over the news for forever."  
Camilla smirked, "When your job description involves removing demonic menaces from people's lives, you tend to fall out of the loop."

"No kidding," Darcy agreed. "So, is this demon stuff all you do."

"It's the bulk of it," Camilla replied with a sigh. "After we're trained, the keeper sends us out of missions and I tend to get a lot of the ones involving the darker forces."

Biting her lip, Darcy edged, "Because you're good at it?"

"Because I'm good at it."

The conversation kind of trailed off after that, Camilla's mind turning back to the images of Clint from the video. He had said that he was a marksman, but it didn't occur to her that he was quite that good as to hold his own among gods and genetically (and technologically) enhanced teammates. Bounding over the rooftops, he'd managed to take out several of the invaders from such a distance that he suffered little to no injury. Even his hand to hand skills were impressive, if a bit brutish. Camilla knew that if it came down to it he could take her down, no problem. What she didn't know is why that stirred her senses to hum lowly along the lines of her body.

Determinedly, Camilla moved her thoughts away from Clint and back towards the problem standing along the wall opposite. She sipped her tea, staring at it for a few minutes more before sighing loudly.

"I'm not going to get any farther on this today. I say we break until tomorrow and see if the US government has some kind of information on these glyphs. I certainly don't recognize them, and Claire is MIA."

"Who is Claire?" Darcy asked as she stood, coiling the length of her earbuds around a small silver ipod.

"The keeper," Camilla replied as she touched the screen of her phone, frustration rising as there were no missed calls or messages. "She… holds the knowledge of the Guardians, accessing every ancient book that would normally be off limits to everyone else."

"So, like, Yoda," Darcy asserted as they left the lab.

Camilla nodded, smirking, "A little, yeah. But, taller and definitely not green."

"Cool."

Leaving Darcy at the door of her room, Camilla returned to her own room and shrugged out of her sweater, throwing it on the bed. Then, she trudged into the bathroom and turned on the faucet, testing the water with the palm of her hand. Shrugging out of her clothing, Camilla stepped into the bath and eased into the heat and comfort. She pushed her head under the water and closed off her senses so that she could think. In the darkness beneath the water, Camilla tried to figure out the glyphs and the purpose of Astar's harvest.

As hard as she tried to focus, her mind kept wandering back to the clip Darcy had shown her of the fight. The news media would have had a field day with that kind of damage and that kind of just plain abnormal showdown. Somehow, they had managed to pull the team members back into some semblance of anonymity. Camilla wondered if she could get some time to ask Mr. Coulson how he did it so that she might be able to apply those strategies to her own team when things got a little too public for her taste.

Needing air, she pushed above the surface and settled against the back of the tub, her arms flung out over the sides. As she went through the routine of shampoo, conditioner, soap, and shave, Camilla had to continually work to keep her mind on the problem of binding the demon and not on the potential for interdepartmental cooperation between the Guardians and the Avengers. Part of her knew that it would potentially put them in harm's way—because she absolutely knew that none were trained in how to properly handle the paranormal—and part of her wanted to know what it was like to work with a team on a regular basis, instead of from long distances. Her life since training had been pretty solitary, this being the first time she'd ever stayed in a place that wasn't charging by the day. Sure, she had quarters attached to her office, but she could never quite get to sleep there.

Camilla stepped out of the tub and towel dried her hair, pulling on a pair of sweats and a hooded sweatshirt. She had only brought a couple of changes of clothing with her and her supplies were getting dangerously low. Standing in the middle of the room, Camilla surveyed what was left, a pair of jeans and a t-shirt she couldn't wear without exposing her tattoos. She definitely needed to do laundry, but she had no idea where the facilities would be located, having only explored one or two floors of the tower. Hands on her hips, Camilla stood for a moment longer before rolling her eyes.

"Mr. Jarvis, can you hear me?"

"What may I help you with, Ms. Paige?" The AI replied serenely.

Camilla's eyebrows rose a little at the prompt reply, but she shelved the surprise and got down to the point, "Where is the laundry room?"

"Take the elevator up to floor 7, it will be directly in front of you as you exit."

"Thank you," Camilla replied. "Can you see me right now?" She held her forearms to her body, looking for hidden cameras.

"No, Ms. Paige. There are no video monitors in your room. Ms. Potts made sure that living quarters were off limits to observation."

Satisfied, Camilla thanked the bodiless voice again and gathered her dirty clothes together in her backpack that usually held her research materials. Hauling the bag over her shoulder, she stepped out into the hall and headed for the elevator. Most elevators were pretty standard, but this one move with eerie quietude that had her wishing for the cheesy music. Glad for the opening doors, Camilla was three steps out of the carriage before she noticed the body lounging in one of the chairs of the laundry room. She managed to stop before he turned, but couldn't help the startled squeak from pushing out of her throat against her will.

Clint turned, one arm sliding back over the arm of the chair so that he could see whoever had come down to do their laundry. Feeling her cheeks burn a little for the undignified and possibly inhuman sound, Camilla ducked her eyes and shuffled over to one of the open washers. Not bothering to separate her clothes (black was pretty much a staple, even for her socks) she dumped the bag into the compartment before she realized that she hadn't brought detergent. Palms flat on the washer, Camilla turned a little to see Clint watching her with the barest little smirk on his mouth.

"Could I borrow some detergent?" It sounded weak even in her own ears, but Camilla held his gaze despite the flush she could feel rising all over her skin.

Clint's smirk widened to a smile, "Absolutely. It's just right there."

Eyes dropping, Camilla spied the detergent sitting innocently on the floor next to the adjacent washer. She smiled her thanks to Clint and leaned down to grab at the handle, glad that she had worn the hoodie with the extra long sleeves so that her arms would be covered. After doling out a little to get her clothes clean, she shut the lid and stared at the dial for a full minute, her mind working to figure out if the instructions were even written in English. She must have stood there much too longer because a shadow passed behind her and Clint was reaching over her to tap at the screen. The washer churned in front of her while Clint's body remained at her back for much too long to be friendly. Determinedly, Camilla kept her eyes forward, pretending to watch the dials as they twisted in their work. It was only when he backed away and returned to his seat that she realized she had been holding her breath.

Chastising herself for allowing whatever feeling this was coursing through her body to show weakness, Camilla turned and sat gingerly in one of the chairs opposite Clint, folding her hands in front of her while she waited for the cycle to run. It was times like these that made Camilla wish she had gone to college, at least then she might have some experience with knowing what to say while doing laundry. Or, with men in general. Guardians tended to be female by some turn of the genetic screw, and she had only worked one on one with a few men, most of whom were barely out of their teenage years. Not a single one of them made the kind of impression Clint continued to make just by sitting in a chair opposite a far too small table.

He inhaled, "When can I get more pancakes?"

Camilla, surprised as she was, couldn't help the little laugh that simply bubbled in her throat, "I didn't realize you liked them that much?"

Clint shrugged, drawing attention to the defined cut of muscles in his shoulders and arms. "I actually tried to recreate them while I was on assignment."

That was certainly flattering, but she managed to keep from flushed further and settled for an intrigued, "Oh?"

"Yeah," he replied, rubbing his hands together, "They weren't as good."

Feeling her expression turn playful, Camilla replied, "They never are. You'll need to come to the source for oatmeal pancakes that don't taste like cardboard."

"I'll be sure to do that," he said, his voice lowered just enough that Camilla's brain took notice, along with other parts that seemed far too happy for his attention. She dropped her gaze to her hands, one thumb rubbing anxiously at the nail of the other while she tried to think of something else to say.

"Want to head down to the kitchen and make some? You know, from the source."

Gaze flying upwards, Camilla tried and failed not to smile at the earnest look in his eyes. "What about the laundry?"

"We'll come back," he answered confidently, "Scout's honor."

Camilla bit her lip while she considered the options: 1. Stay here and have a potentially awkward conversation with attractive man. 2. Go to kitchen and have considerably less awkward conversation with attractive man because she'll have something else to focus on.

"Let's go," she said, rising. Camilla tried not to pay attention to the rising heartbeat in her chest or the flush of awareness the came over her when they stepped into the elevator. The lack of music was even more evident when more than one person stood in the carriage and two sets of eyes were perusing the empty walls. Unable to help herself, Camilla took a peek at Clint, who was giving her this sidelong glance full of amusement. She wanted to retaliate somehow, but she barely knew him and it was probable that he'd use one of those moves she'd seen on the video to incapacitate her—which, she told herself, was not something she found interesting in the least.

As usual, the kitchen was vacant and her ingredients were all still stored where she'd left them. Camilla picked out what she would need, lining the boxes up on the counter and quickly finding the blender. While she worked, Camilla could feel Clint's eyes following her movements, probably trying to figure out where he went wrong. She didn't hide the recipe from him, measuring out the dry ingredients before adding the wet. Capping the blender, she pulsed the mixture until smooth and then moved to start the burners.

From around the corner of the island, Clint pulled plates, forks, and paper towels out and began to set the table. Camilla smiled, shaking her head, but said nothing as she poured a bit of batter onto the griddle. Standing back from the burners, Camilla observed the size and shape of the cakes, nodding her approval. Clint moved to stand beside her, crossing his arms and feet casually. Together, they waited for the pancakes to bubble in the center in the universal sign for flipping. Reaching over, Clint handed her a spatula from the drawer at his hip, gesturing to the griddle.

"Impatient, much?" She asked as she slid the spatula beneath the cakes to turn them over.

"Can't help it. I've been trying to figure this out for three days." There was laughter in his voice, but also a bit of strain as if he were truly confused by his failure to discover the secret of delicious oatmeal pancakes.

Once more shaking her head, Camilla plated the finished cakes and handed the portion to Clint, whose eyes simply lit up with anticipation. Pouring more of the batter onto the griddle, Camilla eyed Clint as he slathered the syrup onto the stack and pushed his fork through the pancakes. Pouting a little at the distinct lack of syrup in the jug, she made a mental note to pick up more after the laundry was complete. Her reserves would need to be housed separately if this was to become a regular thing for her, this making of pancakes.

Flipping the hardened batter, Camilla heard a pair feet tapping very lightly down the hall towards the kitchen. Turning, she caught sight of a head of brightly colored hair ducking into the room, a curious expression on her face.

"Something smells amazing," she murmured, her voice low and almost husky.

Clint held up his fork defensively, "These are mine, Natasha."

"It's okay," Camilla interjected as she detected the look of accepted challenge flashing across the woman's face. "I'll make you some. Have a seat."

There was a beat of contemplation, but eventually Natasha slipped onto one of the barstools at the other place setting Clint had set out. Camilla plated the next batch and set them in front of Natasha, gauging the amount of syrup that would be leftover. It didn't amount to much, but she could sacrifice this one time if there would be more, later. She mixed up another serving of the oatmeal mixture and poured it onto the griddle, leaning a hip against the counter and watching Natasha fork some of her pancakes into her mouth.

Chewing slowly, she said, "Oh, my God."

"Right," Clint replied knowingly. "Its oatmeal, but so, so good."

Chuckling, Camilla asserted, "Do I need to leave you guys alone with your plates."

No reply was made as they continued to eat, their attention focused almost solely on their plates and the food in front of them. Rolling her eyes, Camilla flipped her portion of pancakes over and waited patiently for them to cook.

"Do you cook at all here?" She asked over her shoulder.

"Not really," Natasha answered. "Our assignments don't leave much time for cooking."

Blinking, Camilla turned a little, "What do you eat?"

She shrugged, "Whatever we can get ready made, mostly."

"That's… horrible, really. I mean, that's seriously depressing," Camilla commented while she plated her food and turned off the burners. She could remember doing the exact same thing for a couple of years after training, shifting through the frozen food aisle at the grocery and coming home at 2am still cold microwave plates. Sitting, she covered the pancakes with what was left of the syrup (which added up to not nearly enough) before taking her first bite.

Clint, having finished his serving, smirked at her, "Hazard of the job. Shitty housing and even worse food."

Knowing just how shitty that housing and food could be, Camilla nodded and continued to eat despite the urge to say something that would compare their lives. What she did for a living and what they did to save the world were completely separate lifestyles. Camilla was no superhero, but that didn't mean she didn't do her fair share of exertion for the better good. It just so happened that her efforts clearly blurred the line between moral and immoral decisions on a frequent basis.

Natasha finished next, having managed to keep Clint from stealing from her plate on multiple occasions. She stared at the empty surface, seeming to concentrate hard on the fact that there was nothing left.

"Where did you learn to make oatmeal taste like this?"

Swallowing, Camilla replied, "From a friend. She was a bit of a health nut." Understatement of the century. Claire was, in fact, the healthiest person she knew. At thirty seven years of age, she could out fight many of the twenty-somethings and hold her own against demons. It was a testament to how dedicated she was to her job that Claire always turned town ice cream and alcohol on the rare occasions that they were offered. Camilla only hoped to be as good as she was, knowing that she would continue to fall short due to her fear of using magic in the open.

When she finished, Natasha helped her wash the dishes while Clint put away the rest of the ingredients. Standing next to the taller woman, Camilla scrubbed the plates clean, handing them over to be dried.

Somewhere between scrubbing and rinsing, Natasha asked, "He mentioned those pancakes while we were on assignment. I thought he was exaggerating."

Blinking, it took Camilla a moment to reply, "Oh, well I'm glad you liked them."

After a few seconds, Natasha continued, "I think he likes you as much as the oatmeal."

Spluttering, Camilla made to deny it, but Natasha cut her off with a dismissive wave of her hand. She took a few more of the plates from Camilla's grasp, running the towel over them to collect the excess water. There was no answer to Natasha's assertion, which Camilla thought was probably just a reaction to Clint's flirtatious nature. Maintaining her silence, Camilla forced herself to focus on scrubbing down the dishes and when she finished with those, she wiped down the counter and stove until they shone in the light from the ceiling.

When she finally looked up, both Clint and Natasha were watching her from their respective seats at the island, similar expressions of interest on their otherwise stoic faces. Camilla sighed and tossed the wet paper towel in the trash, not knowing how else to keep herself occupied.

"I guess I should go check on the laundry," she edged, suddenly wanting out of the room because being the object of focus was far too much for someone used to hiding in the shadow of her job.

Clint slid from the chair in a little hopping motion, "I should check on mine, too. See ya, Nat."

Camilla spared the woman another glance before heading for the door, ducking her head at the strange little smile playing across her mouth. It was ridiculous, it was stupid, and given her current predicament, it was dangerous. Inside the elevator, Camilla put a stop to her racing thoughts, telling herself that she was putting the cart way before the horse on this. Natasha was probably screwing with her, trying to get a reaction, and she had fallen right into her prank. Rather than feeling embarrassed, she felt a sense of stunning relief at her realization. Feeling marginally better, Camilla stared at her own reflection in the doors of the elevator, steeling herself against the notion that there was anything but mild friendship based on her culinary prowess between herself and a man she'd only seen twice before.

The cycle on the washer had been completed, so she dumped the wet wad of clothes into the dryer and was once again stumped by the high tech dials. On cue, Clint reached over and tapped on the glass, sending her a smirk before seeing to his own laundry. Camilla sat down at the table while he folded, trying to think of something to say.  
"I can teach you how to make the pancakes, if you like them so much."

Clint glanced at her, over one of his shirts, "Somehow I don't think it would be the same."

Camilla rolled her eyes, "Sure it would. You just put the food and spices into the blender and fry it."

"Yeah, but have seen the way you flip those things?" He replied as he balled up a pair of socks and tossed them into a nearby basket. "Not a single one is burned."

"Just have to have a little patience," she countered. "I'm sure you can manage."

He tilted his head to the side, observing for a moment and Camilla had to drop her gaze to keep the nervous laugh from coming out. "Not really the point."

In a hushed tone, Camilla asked, "What's the point?" For certain she had no idea where this conversation was going, but she liked that uncertainty. It made her skin feel electric and her mouth go dry with anticipation for what would happen next. These things were all normal occurrences for most people, talking with a man and sharing a meal. But, for her, the experience was so entirely new that she reveled in the sensation of novelty.

Clint braced his hands on either side of his laundry pile, smaller now that some of it had been folded, and leveled a gaze at her that was almost stern. "The point is that you like to cook, and I like to eat. It's mutually beneficial."

"That's a good point," Camilla said carefully.

He winked, "Knew you'd see it my way." Laundry finished, Clint hoisted the basket onto one hip and sauntered towards the door. "See ya around."

Camilla watched him go, not a little bit confused but feeling somehow satisfied all the same. The dryer finished its cycle and Camilla piled her clean clothes into her bag and lugged it back to the elevator. Once inside her room, she folded the contents of the bag and set them back into the suitcase for safekeeping. As she sorted through the articles of clothing, she found her journal. Opening it, she reached for a pen, holding it above the page to write down the newest happenings in her journey. The words, however, wouldn't come. It didn't seem right to expose the interworkings of the building despite the fact that no one would ever read it but her.

Setting the journal on the nightstand, Camilla shifted on her feet and had the first vision since coming to the mansion. Though the visions were always blurry, she could clearly see her own hand with its tattoos along the wrist and forearm. It was pressed to the wood of the nightstand, trembling. From out of her periphery, a leg stepped forward followed by a hip and torso. Unable to look up, Camilla focused hard on the back pockets of the cargo pants, memorizing the stitching for recall later. A hand slid down the length of her arm, tracing the curls of her tattoos before wrapping around the wrist to pull her from her perch against the wall.

The vision ended and Camilla drew deep breaths to steady her dizzy body. She had slipped to the floor during the incident, her legs folded neatly beneath her thighs. Standing, she rolled herself onto the mattress and stared at the ceiling, wondering just what the hell she had seen and when it was going to happen.

**I know that Hawkeye doesn't really get as much love as some of the other characters of the crew, and that has made fleshing out his personality a bit of a daunting task. I hope I've managed to at least create a character worth reading, but I'm having a lot of fun writing it even if it's a little OOC. **


	4. Chapter 4

**A little more Darcy, a little more Clint-actually a little more of everyone.**

Camilla strolled into the living room, stalling a little when she found Darcy curled up in the pillow pit with a woman she didn't recognize. They were watching some kind of horror movie on a large screen hanging from the ceiling, though they were more laughing at it than actually watching it at that point. She raised a brow at how they could laugh so hard at a young woman being chased through the woods, but eventually recognized the low budget flick as torture porn rather than a serious horror movie.

"Come meet Jane!" Darcy called, struggling to stand on the unsteady surface.

Camilla waved at the petite woman, "Nice to meet you Jane. I'm Camilla."

"She's pretty cool," Darcy said as she finally made it to the edge of the pit and onto firm ground. Jane followed suit, pulling her hair to tumble over her shoulder. Her clear eyes looked strained and unfocused, as if she had been working far too long. The smile on her lips, however, was genuine and, Camilla guessed, a natural byproduct of Darcy's presence. Camilla, herself, certainly seemed to smile a lot more when the younger woman was around.

Backing up a little, Camilla edged, "I didn't mean to interrupt your movie night."

Huffing, Darcy smirked, "Nonsense, Poppycock, we can watch movies any time. You're only here, for a few weeks."

"Until we bind the demon, yes," Camilla assured her, knowing that if the case kept moving forward she could be leaving much more quickly. "But, that doesn't mean that you have to alter your routine to keep me… entertained." She could find something to do while Darcy finished the movie with her friend—read, or something. Journaling was out of the question since the vision two nights previous. She couldn't risk writing something down that may be intercepted, especially if the visions were going to start up again. It had been almost a year since her last one and they tended to recur over the course of a few months then fade away again. Though unreliable in their timing, her visions were never wrong once she could see them clearly. They were a boon to her work and sometimes more trouble than they were worth.

Darcy bounced a little on her feet, "Got any stories of your adventures in demon land? Jane and I need a distraction."

Brow rising, Camilla followed up with the inevitable question, "From what?"

It was Jane who answered, "The Avengers are on assignment tonight. Something about a plan to create an earthquake in the Grand Canyon."

"Really?" Camilla replied, "I didn't think they sent superheroes out for that sort of thing."

"They don't," Darcy interjected curtly. "Which is why I think there's something they're not telling us."

Jane rolled her eyes, "There's always something they aren't telling us. Get used to it." There was a tinge of venom in her voice that died out almost instantly into resignation and annoyance.

"I don't want to get used to it, dammit," Darcy exclaimed, stamping her foot. "Our boyfriends are out there kicking ass doing who knows what and no one will tell us a damn thing." She crossed her arms over her chest and pouted, her expression dropping towards the floor.

In response to Darcy's rising distress, Camilla interrupted what was sure to become a veritable tirade with a suggestion. "You guys hungry?"

Eyes widening, Darcy's smile was tinged with hunger, "Always."

Camilla looked to Jane, who nodded, and then spun on her heel and headed to the elevator. "You guys coming? Groceries first, then food."

"Excellent," Darcy called out, pulling Jane along. Jane allowed it with an indulgent smirk, clearly used to following along on Darcy's little whims. After retrieving Camilla's keys, they piled into her rental and headed down to the twenty four hour grocer. From there, Camilla discovered how difficult it was to keep Darcy from sneaking chocolate into the cart as well as make sure Jane didn't spend too long debating over the ingredients listing. She managed to acquire mostly nutritious foodstuffs, though Darcy won out on several debates and filled a little section of the cart with desserts, chips, and one tub of cookie dough. She also managed to grab several bottles of syrup, a few of which she would hoard for her own personal use.

At the checkout, Camilla hip checked Darcy to present her card to the cashier, smiling at Darcy's grunt of annoyance. They packed the car and, after performing a once over of the perimeter, Camilla slumped into the driver's seat and began the short drive back home. Gathering the food onto their arms, the group headed inside towards the unclaimed kitchen Camilla had somehow claimed as hers.

"Stack the food by type—meats, fruits, vegetables," Camilla said as she tucked the syrup into a low drawer, patting it gently. Hopefully it would be safe from the sweet tooth of the many occupants of the house.

Jane sorted through the bags diligently and going so far as to sort by size and color, "Surely we won't eat so much."

Camilla smiled, "Probably not, but I'm sure the team will need food after the mission."

Darcy's head tilted a little to the side, "That is a great idea." Her tone was low, almost reverent, "I mean, have you _seen_ Thor take down ten boxes of Poptarts? And the Cap, right, his metabolism is, like, a hundred times faster." She paused, "They have to be starving after a workout like that."

Nodding, Jane touched a slab of ribs, "He does empty our fridge pretty quickly."

"Perfect," Camilla ended the debate, "Let's get started. Pull the meat out the packages and set it on plates along the far corner. Darcy, start dicing the vegetables." While Jane and Darcy set about their tasks Camilla pulled out the various pots and pans. To her happy delight, there was a slow cooker in the back of the pantry which would be perfect for the pork. Plugging it in, she slid the tenderloin from where Jane had placed it and dropped it into the vat along with water and a few cups of the vegetables Darcy had already started on. Next, she dug around for some soy sauce and the limes, creating a marinade for the flank steaks. Jane, already onto her plan, set the steaks into a deep pan and held it so that Camilla could pour the marinade over them and into the fridge it went.

Throwing some brown rice into water, Camilla heated the pot to boiling and covered it so that the steam would fluff the rice equally. Darcy, having finished dicing every vegetable in sight, stood proudly at the ready for Camilla's next instruction. Shaking her head, she handed Darcy a zester and ten lemons, not even bothering to reply to Darcy's twisted frown.

While they floured and browned several pounds of chicken, Darcy stopped her work and harrumphed. "We need music." She then rushed off out of sight and was gone for several minutes. Camilla looked to Jane for an explanation, but the tiny brunette simply shrugged and continued patting a dry rub on the ribs. Soon enough, Darcy returned triumphantly with a bundle of cords and plastic tucked neatly in her arms. With exaggerated movements, she plugged in the device and respectfully placed her ipod upon it. From the speakers came a screaming guitar solo that was far too loud in the small, quiet room. Sheepishly, she lowered the volume and selected a playlist of what Camilla could only describe as an amalgamation of salsa and hip hop.

With renewed motivation, Darcy began scraping the zest from each lemon, her hips swaying to the pounding beat. Soon enough, they fell into the easy rhythm of cooking, frying, and preparing more food than Camilla had ever presented. Then again, she had only cooked for herself or maybe one other person in her life. It was nice to be preparing a large meal of all the foods she had perfected, loved, and indulged in alone. From the pots on the stove and the dishes staying warm in the oven came the smell of home cooked culinary deliciousness of which she could only be very proud. While the vegetable laden stir fry settled into its final simmer sounds could be heard from down the hall, rising above the music. Darcy reached over nimbly and tapped the mute button on the speakers, her ears straining to hear. Two pairs of eager eyes flashed to Camilla, who waved them off to see their loved ones.

From a high cupboard, she pulled down plates and bowls, hoisting them onto her hip as she made her way to the pristine dining room off to the side. It was lavishly decorated with heavy, dark wooden furniture and a shining chandelier dropping from the vaulted ceiling. This one room, out of all that she had seen in the house, did not reek of sterility. It was also the only room that wasn't covered in high tech gadgets and chrome accents but was, instead, filled with softer accents that created an environment that was surprisingly inviting. One by one she set the places, going back for glasses and silverware which she also placed around the settings. Darcy pushed Loki into the room followed by Jane who was actually being carried by the massive blonde she knew was Thor. Others filed in while she gathered the first choices—sweet almond chicken and turkey sausage jambalaya. As an afterthought, she balanced the vegetable stir fry on top, carrying the load carefully between rooms.

Seeing the whole team seated around the table was ultimately stunning for Camilla and she had to shake herself to keep from staring at the strange company they seemed to make. Their sizes varied a largely as their postures, some shoulders pulled back and others hunched over their arms. Yet, there was this cohesion about them, all piled together in a room that was almost too small for the group as if the team that had coalesced on the battlefield hadn't quite disbanded. Setting the bowls in the center of the circular table, Camilla pointed out what was what and stepped back towards the kitchen.

From behind her, she heard Clint call out, "You're not eating?"

At the doorway, Camilla turned to glance back at him, "Benefit of being the cook, you get to taste test along the way." And with a smile she swung around the edge of the door and into the kitchen, congratulating herself on making a witty comeback instead of stuttering like an idiot. It was her first point on the plus side in a while after spending far too long hiding in her own solidarity. She flounced along the length of the island to the slow cooker, opening the lid to check the pork. Browned and juicy the meat simmered in a cocktail of apples and cherries, nearly falling apart when she picked at it with a fork. Satisfied, she hefted the heavy hunk of meat onto a plate, spooning out some of the liquid and fruit to settle on top.

Heading back to the dining room, Camilla discovered that most of the first three dishes had been devoured, many of the teammates chewing silently and making little noises of approval. From Loki's lap, Darcy sent her a thumb up. She shook it off in nonchalance though there was no helping the little splash of pride, slipping from the room only to return with a few more platters of battered chicken and broccoli as well as lemon zucchini and salmon. Eyes all around the table widened with the new courses and she could practically feel their fingers tighten around their forks.

"You're trying to kill us," Mr. Stark asserted loudly, shaking his fork at her. "You're seriously trying to kill us."

Stunned, Camilla halted mid stride, immediately moving to deny and apologize for giving the indication that she would do such a thing. It was just a stupid way to maybe thank them for letting her stay there and to get to know them better. Camilla really should have known it would be taken with the usual suspicion of the group.

Eyeing the plates, he continued, "Christ, I've been to five star restaurants that haven't been this good. I may eat until I puke."

Dr. Banner leaned away, "Can you do it that way?" He gestured to the Captain who sat on Mr. Stark's opposite side.

"Vomit on me and I'll have Pepper ending all of your memos with 'Love, Snookie'."

Mr. Stark replied dryly, "You wouldn't."

The Cap merely smiled, "She owes me one for letting you out with my bike."

Sensing that the attention had moved from her, Camilla allowed herself to feel some relief and set the plates down on the table and stepped away to watch them dig in for a moment. She imagined that this was what a family looked like from the outside, if the family was made up of super components that may or may not accidentally put a hole through the wall by pressing a little too hard.

"You guys enjoy," she called out above the rising conversation. "I've got to see to the dessert."

"Pancakes?" Clint asked around a mouthful of chicken and broccoli.

"Ah, no," she replied. When his expression fell, she amended lightly, "I've got something better."

Natasha, who sat to Clint's left, paused, "Better than those pancakes?"

"_I_ think so, but I'll defer to your opinion on the matter." She was teasing, of course, her tone light and lilting. Some of her, however, actually meant that she would defer to them—if she wanted to make food for them in the future, she would better know what they liked. The spread that night was devoured with relative indiscrimination so she figured that as long as she represented all of the food groups equally she would be okay.

Mr. Stark perked up, "I missed something. What did I miss?"

As Clint dropped into an explanation, Camilla returned to the kitchen and pulled the pans out of the fridge where they were cooling. Dropping them upside down on a large platter, Camilla smiled when the dark fudgy cake came out clean. Pleased, she cut the mass into thick, even slices and plated them. Leaning down, she grabbed the can of whipped cream which she had, had to confiscate from Darcy almost as soon as they picked it from the aisle. She had wanted to spray the stuff directly into her mouth, which was a little unsettling but funny all the same. After each cake was given a dollop, Camilla topped them with a strawberry before pulling the final ingredient from its place at the back of the stove.

Warm and oozing, the melted chocolate poured hotly onto the whipped cream and strawberry, softening the mixture so it melted down the sides. She checked that each had a generous helping of the chocolate before setting the pot aside to be cleaned and lifting the large platter from the island. Making sure her grip was secure; Camilla entered the dining room and began handing out the individual cakes. She waited for each of them to take a bite, smiling a little at the rolling eyes and Darcy's little dance of joy. Well fed and content, most of the team ended the meal leaning away from the table, eyes lifting to the ceiling as the food coma set in.

Feeling her satisfaction grow, Camilla quietly backed out of the room and made her way back to the kitchen to begin the clean up process. There were what seemed like a hundred pots and pans to scrub and the floor was littered with tiny pieces of vegetable from where Darcy had chopped a little too exuberantly. Diligently, she set to work, filling the oversized sinks with soap and water and dropping the smaller items into the sudsy water to soak. As she hauled the largest cauldron from the stove, the Captain entered the room with a pile of plates.

"Just set them over there," Camilla said genially. "I'll get to them in a minute."

"Here, I'll help," he replied, rolling up the sleeves of his uniform. Camilla eyes the fabric for a moment, wondering how something so skin tight could actually be rolled along his forearms so easily. Her only answer was 'science' and lots of it.

Even as she was protesting and trying to send him on his way, more of the team members filed in, each of them trying to help clean up the mess she'd created. Her continued protests were cut off by rolling eyes (from Natasha) and soft reminders that since she had cooked it was their turn to clean (from Dr. Banner). For several minutes, Camilla was merely directing the traffic in the room until a hand settled on the small of her back and directed her firmly to one of the seats at the island.

"Let us work," Clint murmured into her ear, his breath fanning down the length of her neck. He patted her shoulder and stepped away to perform the same action with both Darcy and Jane. The three of them sort of stared at one another while the others began assigning each other jobs. Mr. Stark sidled up with four glasses and a large decanter of dark liquid, pouring them each a bit.

"After a meal like that, the only thing you can do is drink," he said, sliding one stout glass to Camilla. "Best meal I've ever had," he continued with a smirk and a little salute that sloshed the liquid around the rim of the glass. And that was when Mr. Stark suddenly became Tony in Camilla's mind, his appreciation of her work all she needed to officially enter him into her little bubble of those she would stand with should it become necessary. It really shouldn't have been so easy, but Camilla was feeling particularly content that night and was willing to make exceptions.

From there it simply became more surreal for Camilla and possibly for the others sitting around the island with her. She watched several of the most powerful beings on earth wash up dishes and wipe down counters with marked efficiency. In one corner, Tony was lounging on top of the counter issuing orders with extravagant waves of his expressive hands. In another, the godly brothers were shoving playfully at one another while they put away the dried plates into the cabinets. Still further, at the sinks stood the Captain and Natasha, who was making snarky little comments about how nice the Cap's apron looked. The flowery bit of fabric was tied neatly around his waist and Camilla thought it was adorable how he blushed under such scrutiny. It seemed a continual thing for Camilla to raise her brows at Darcy, who simply shrugged and shouted catcalls and hoots of laughter. Jane's reaction was to hide her smile behind her glass and to duck the occasional splash of water from nearby.

As Tony slid from the counter, he knocked some of the pots still waiting to be cleaned to the ground in a clatter of sound. Rising, Camilla knelt down to gather the now dented cookware and set it back into place. From seemly out of nowhere, an arm slipped her waist and hoisted her up off the ground and away from the mess. Clint settled her back onto her chair firmly, his arm remaining just long enough to emphasize his point.

"No moving, we got this," he said with a smile, though his eyes spoke of retribution should she set foot on the ground before they were finished.

Hands up in surrender, Camilla flashed a surprised look at Darcy, who was pointedly looking at Jane who was once more hiding her expression in her drink. Periodically for the next fifteen minutes, Camilla would observe the room and find something that needed doing. She would make to rise only to have Clint turn and give her a sharp look from his position next to Tony. Sheepishly, she would duck back down into her seat and obediently sip at the sharp tang of liquor from the glass Tony kept refilling. It didn't matter if she were overtly moving or if she was trying to sneak at wiping the table, whenever her body shifted to help somehow Clint's gaze would find her and stop the movement silently.

When the kitchen was clean and the dishes washed, most of the team headed out, some nodding their thanks on the way. Camilla watched them go, unsure if she would be finally allowed to move despite the fact that there was no further work to be done—every inch of the room was practically sparkling. She waited patiently, rolling the empty tumbler between her palms in distraction while Darcy collected her speakers and skipped from the room.

As she had anticipated (or was it hoped), eventually she was left with Clint alone in a room that had once seemed very small but was rapidly enlarging. From the other side of the island, he regarded her with half a smile. She managed to hold the gaze even with the rising nerves skittering down low in her stomach. There was nothing to be done about the feelings coursing through her body, but she could face him as bravely as she dared in spite of them.

"So," Camilla breathed. "Can I move now?" The question rang out like an echo in the empty kitchen, shuffling across the table towards Clint, who pushed from his leaned position and crossed his arms.

"I suppose, not that I could keep you there for too long anyways."

Camilla fought the blush, knowing that should he so choose he could keep her anywhere he wanted simply by force of will. She rose and placed her glass in the sink, running water into it simply to have something to do with her hands while she rid her mind of just how easy he could maneuver her. With hardly any knowledge of him as a person, Camilla felt the need to please him in some way, to show that she was more than a lackey performing an investigation for some nameless agency. The truth was that she was feared by the demonic (at least the smart ones) and critical to protecting this side of the veil from crumbling into agony. It didn't make sense for her to feel like this meek little child when faced with one man when she had faced down literal demons.

"What's the verdict?" Camilla asked once her thoughts were firmly under control. When his brows furrowed, she expounded, "On the dessert. Which did you like better?"

"Ah," Clint replied, comprehension dawning. He stepped around the edge of the island, approaching very slowly. "I like them both, but if I had to choose… the pancakes, definitely."

"Really," she drawled, more than a little surprised. "Why is that?"

As he took a moment to think, Clint rolled his shoulders a little, eyes flicking to the side. "The chocolate is good, very sweet. But there's substance behind the pancakes—of course they're sprinkled with a little sweet, too."

Camilla nodded, pursing her lips, "Good answer."

The board stared back at her in this taunting way that made Camilla want to shove it to the ground in a fit of pique. She sneered at it, huffing out a breath as it continued to refuse to reveal its secrets. As a stalemate and with no help from her mentor, Camilla began to feel her frustration grown restlessly in her body. She had never been left to her own devices for so long—the council had strict rules about checking regularly with the keeper. Without guidance, it felt like Camilla was shooting in the dark, feeling her way for answers to an old and annoying problem.

Glancing at the glyphs again, she made a mental scan of her knowledge, and came up short. They certainly _seemed_ familiar, but where most spells involving glyphs were drawn sharply in angular patterns, these glyphs were almost gracefully artistic. For certain, they were advanced magic meant for some serious spell work. Camilla was well-versed in magical theory though she rarely used it. This, however, was going to require a mind that had actually written and executed spells of their own.

Darcy joined her in staring at the board after lunch, making an effort to at least look like she was thinking hard.

"I'm smart enough to know that I'm not smart enough for this," Darcy intoned as she shucked her heavy sweater.

"I don't know, "Camilla replied. "You've caught on pretty fast. But, you're right; this might be way beyond us." It was a shame, because even though Camilla had quite a number of favors she could call in there would be no small effort expended to gain an agreement. And, the one person she thought might be the most helpful was also notorious for driving a hard bargain.

Turning away from her thoughts Camilla pressed her hands to the back of her neck to work out the knots of tension. She could really use a long soak in a hot bath, but the problem would still be here when she got back. Best to deal with it now. She inhaled to say something, her words stopping cold when she caught sight of Darcy's wrist. Delicately placed on the inside was a set of whirls made of tiny dots that seemed embedded in the skin. Camilla stared at it so long that Darcy took notice and shrugged.

"Happened right before the ritual," She explained. "All the victims had it."

Eyes narrowing, Camilla echoed, "All the victims?"

"Yeah, it was how I knew I was next." There was such nonchalance in her tone that Camilla knew Darcy had absolutely no idea what that mark meant. It was yet another sign that Darcy's life was never going to quite be the same after Camilla left, and with Claire being MIA that left Camilla to break the news and to point the girl in a good direction.

"You are next," Camilla asserted urgently, "But not for what you think. The mark on your wrist, there, is the mark of the potential. It means that you're in line to become a guardian."

Darcy's eyebrow rose, "Say what?"

Sighing, Camilla prepared for a lengthy explanation, finding that the words didn't want to flow as they probably should. She had heard the speech enough to know how to talk about fledging a Guardian, but with Darcy's wide, inquisitive eyes staring expectantly at her, the burden of doing so became heavy. The life of a Guardian, Camilla's life, wasn't something that would work for a girl like Darcy. She needed sunshine and her superhero friends and crazy nights watching awful movies—not demons and darkness and evil all around.

After a second sigh, Camilla simply stated, "You could have been called to be like me, if the circumstances had been right." Dropping her gaze, she continued, "Luckily for you, your particular bloodline had probably been filled before you hit puberty."

"What does my bloodline have to do with it?" Darcy asked, touching the mark on her wrist.

Leaning back into her chair, Camilla answered as truthfully as she knew how, "There are six bloodlines that the council draws its guardians from. When one Guardian is killed by a demon, another is chosen, usually the closest one."

Seeming to think about it for a minute, Darcy bit her lip and dropped her eyes to her hands, "All of the potentials have the mark."

"Yeah," Camilla affirmed, "All of them."

"Seems like a good tracking system."

Flicking her eyes over to the board, Camilla looked at the pictures, wondering, "It really is."

She stood and moved so that she could look closely at the victims in turn. The images that had caught the wrist of each person did indeed show the mark of the potentials in start relief against their skin. Several pieces of the puzzle slid effectively into place and her jaw dropped, hanging loosely. The victims were potentials, all of them. Astar was harvesting potentials, humans with souls hundreds of times more powerful than the average. With the fifty she already knew about and possibly more on the way, he would have boosted his power exponentially in the span of a few months. Camilla closed her eyes and pressed her hands to her temples, feeling a headache coming on.

Through the door sauntered Tony with Pepper in tow, her fair head ducked over her phone as she tried to keep up with his rescheduling. Camilla's attention remained on her thoughts of Astar's plans even as she turned to greet the newcomers. He was building his power with the souls of potentials, but that power would only last about a month or two before fading away. The plan, whatever it was, was going to move quickly, far more quickly than she wanted with so many unanswered questions.

Darcy was telling Tony that she had latent powers of badassery, but Camilla wasn't really paying much attention. The glyphs needed translating and there was only one person in the state who could do it, but it wouldn't come for free. She would have to give him something precious for the translation and even then he might not be able to help her with all of them. Shaking herself back to the present, Camilla toyed with the ends of her hair as she observed Darcy's eagerness. If the girl actually knew what it would be like as a Guardian, she would be running as fast as possible in the opposite direction. Camilla was grateful that the bloodlines were filled at the moment, and would be for quite some time as the team was fully trained and battle ready.

Pulling out her phone, she sent a message to the team, asking them to convene at the mansion. With Astar more powerful than he had ever been, Camilla would definitely need back up to bind him. Darcy might be able to help a little with the spell writing, but Camilla wanted to keep her as far away from the demon as she could. Inexperienced as she was, Astar might be able to possess her before she had a chance to fight back.

"I'm calling the team in," Camilla said absently, staring at the screen of her phone while she waited for the responses.

"More like you?" Darcy asked, surprised.

Camilla nodded, "I need help with this."

Tony looked up from his conversation with Ms. Potts, "You have access to a buffet of superheroes and you think you still need help?"

She rolled her shoulders, "I can't take the risk that the demon will hurt one of you."

Scoffing, he sneered, "You obviously have never seen us at work."

"And you obviously have never seen demonic possession up close. Believe me when I say we need professional demon slayers here pronto because the demon is going to make his move very soon and none of the people in this building are prepared for this kind of hell." She was irritated at being questioned, and irritated that the demon had managed to take out fifty potentials without the council's knowledge. It was common understanding that they were ineffective bureaucrats who were too stuck on the old ways to adapt to modern society. Claire had made headway with them, but they were vehement that the Guardians could not be expanded into a larger task force and that the knowledge Claire held deep in the bowels of the earth could not be trusted with those outside the loop.

"Granted," Tony retorted, "But I'm sure that if it lives and breathes, it bleeds."

Camilla nodded, "They all bleed, Tony, but most of the time it's one of us who suffers." She stepped away, rubbing at the back of her neck, "I need to go see someone about those glyphs. There's a… nightclub of sorts nearby that he owns. I'll have him translate."

Tony's eyes lit up, "Just what I needed, a little fun-filled night of debauchery." He ducked Pepper's pointed glare and playful slap.

Rolling her eyes, she shot back, "No offense, Tony, but men don't last too long in this place. You'd be down for the count in ten minutes. I need someone who can keep a clear head."

"I'll do it," Darcy piped in, "I don't want to brag but I was pretty adept at the party scene."

"Absolutely not," Camilla cut in, "You're staying here where you'll have some semblance of protection." Turning to Tony, she asked, "Is there anyone you would recommend?"

His smile was enough to tell her that she might have made a mistake in asking, but he was off in a flash of expensive tailoring before she could rescind the statement. Knowing that she would need to dress the part in order to get in, Camilla popped out to her car and grabbed the duffel from a hidden compartment in the trunk of her car. Safely ensconced in her room, she dug through it for the tight black leggings, heels, and halter top. Her regular attire wouldn't suit the atmosphere of the club and, without dressing at least making an attempt to fit in, it was unlikely she'd be allowed through the door, Guardian or not. She changed quickly, pouring her body into the material and shrugging on a soft blazer. In the bathroom, she rimmed her eyes in kohl and mascara, touching her pulse points with perfume.

In the mirror stood Camilla Paige, Guardian, with all the rights and responsibilities befitting that title, and yet she faltered at the door. As respected as her status was amongst the paranormal crowd, it would only take her so far and Camilla couldn't risk coming up short. There would be need for payment and money just wasn't an option for this particular deal. Returning to her bag, she pulled a small vial of liquid and held it to the light. It was something she'd wanted to use in the binding spell, hoping to give it more effectiveness, but sacrifices were going to have to be made and she could always get more and try it out the next time Astar crawled out of hell.

Tucking the vial into the cup of her bra, Camilla picked up her purse and slung it over her shoulder as she left the room. As she made the trek down the hall, Camilla became aware of a presence nearby. She turned sharply, seeing nothing. The hair along her arms rose as she raised a hand to test the air for power brewing in the molecules. Feeling nothing, she slowly dropped her hand though her steps were backwards for a moment before she felt safe enough to put her back to the hall.

In the living room, her apparent partner for the night sat on the couch putting bullets into a clip and sliding the mechanism home. Natasha slipped the pistol into a holster at her side, pocketing an extra clip and rising. She was wearing a pair of tight jeans and a bright red tank top, a leather jacket hiding the weapons stashed over her torso. Camilla nodded to her, thinking that if anyone was going to be the best kind of help tonight, Natasha was the best choice.

"There shouldn't be any need for a fight," Camilla said as she approached, "But, I appreciate the preparedness."

Natasha nodded, "Can't say that I'll need them, but I just bought these jeans and I'd really like to not get blood on them."

"Who's bleeding?" Came a voice from across the room. Camilla turned to see Clint walking in, for once, not wearing his uniform. The cotton long sleeve shirt and worn jeans were a nice change from his basic black t-shirt and cargos.

"No one as of yet," Camilla answered, swallowing to make sure she wasn't going to salivate at the mere sight of him. The casual clothes only served to emphasize the banded cords of muscle that helped create a meandering gait as effortless as it was fascinating. What the hell was it about him that kept distracting Camilla from her mission? Gorgeous men had never been a problem before, she admired them objectively and moved on—Camilla had done the admiring of Clint, but couldn't seem to make it to the 'moving on' part.

Eyeing her from top to bottom, Clint slowed to a stop, "Natasha, you've corrupted her." Though he was speaking to the woman at Camilla's left, his eyes remained on her, taking in every detail leisurely.

The redhead scoffed, "_She_ needs _me_ for this mission_._ I've done no corrupting—I'll leave that to you."

Camilla didn't trust the glint in Clint's clear eyes, and so chose to veer the conversation in another, safer, direction. "We're working tonight, the venue just happens to be a club."

"Really?" Clint replied, surprise flushing over his features. "Need backup?"

_Desperately,_ Camilla thought, but knew that having Clint in a crowded club would certainly be more of a distraction than she could afford. She needed to be able to focus, to keep her mind from wondering what the calluses on his hands would feel like running down the length of her spine.

Natasha laughed lowly, "I know a little about this place. Believe me, you're better off not going."

Clint rolled his eyes, "I want details when you get back, okay?" There was a bit of suggestion in his tone that had Camilla's brain tilting a little in response.

"You'll get a full debriefing," Camilla replied dryly, turning to Natasha. "We really do need to be going."

There was a shining black car waiting for them when they stepped outside into the frosty night air. Camilla made to protest, but was cut off by a curt explanation from Natasha—there would be a professional driver at the ready should they need to escape. No doubt there was also a GPS tracker in the car in case they were followed. Camilla appreciated the sentiment, but if a fight broke out that night, there would be no saving the entire room from being decimated. She settled into the plush black seat and took a moment to center herself. Then, as they pulled out onto the interstate, she removed her blazer, exposing her tattoos to the night.


	5. Chapter 5

**Alright, so in this chapter we see a little of what the tattoos can do and delve a little deeper into the mystery surrounding the glyphs.**

To her credit, Natasha only spared the tattoos a brief glance before turning her attention to the road as it flashed by. Camilla folded her sweater at her side and slipped her purse beneath it as she probably wouldn't need her cell or wallet once they got inside. As they neared the club, Camilla watched Natasha's face harden into the fierce warrior she'd seen fighting off alien enemies in the video. Every movement became more controlled and intentional, even her breathing evened out into an almost meditative rhythm. Natasha was preparing for a fight that Camilla desperately didn't want to have in a crowded room filled with predators.

Stepping out onto the pavement, Camilla breathed deep and steeled herself against the anxiety in her gut. She leaned over to Natasha as she, too, exited the car, "I'll have to request permission to get to the VIP section, but that shouldn't really be a problem. Just stay close and we'll be in and out very quickly."

Nodding, Natasha squared her shoulders and followed Camilla to the front door beneath a dim blue bulb of light. The building was nondescript, not even a sign at the entrance to declare what kind of place it was, but Camilla had, had to make a journey there enough times that she wasn't fooled by the lackluster surface. Behind that door was much more than a simple warehouse; it was the lair of many of the neutral agents of the underworld. Here was where the good and the evil met and discovered one another on impartial ground. Attacks from either side were illegal per a peace treaty signed by the council and the overlords of hell. Camilla continued to be wary, however, because even though she wouldn't be outwardly assaulted, there were many spies sent through here to gather information on the council and its agents.

As they stepped inside, they were met with almost complete darkness, the only light coming from the faint pulse of the strobes near the far end. Camilla swallowed, moving forward determinedly to greet the hostess.

"I want to see Oliver," she said lowly, yet firmly enough that there was no questioning her intent.

The hostess looked down at her lectern, "I don't see an appointment for a Guardian tonight."

"He's not expecting me, but I have something he may be interested in."

This brow lifting over the rim of her glasses, the hostess tapped her long nails for a moment, thinking quickly. "Right this way," she said finally, turning to slip down the hall.

Camilla followed, instinctively knowing the Natasha was at her back, keen eyes watchful for danger. The hall opened into a large room that pulsed with hard pounding music. In the dim light, she could see that the place was filled with people, some dancing exuberantly on the dance floor and others chatting at tables over the music. In the light (dim as it was) one could be assured of relative safety, but in the dark corners lay menace. Between the screaming guitars, Camilla could hear shrieks pushing out from the shadows, mixing with the crowd who paid them no heed. She had known a few agents of the council who had been pulled into those corners and ripped near on to shreds by some demon or siren bent on attaining their power. Oliver's staff would only intervene rarely as most of the time, Camilla had been told, these 'attacks' were consensual. As in Vegas, what went on in the club, stayed in the club and the council was willing to look the other was as long as professional boundaries were maintained outside the establishment.

The hostess led them up a spiral staircase to the top tier that overlooked most of the club's many divided sections. Camilla didn't have to push her way through as most of the occupants took one look at her tattoos and scattered—whether out of fear or respect, she didn't know and didn't much care. She was used to the eyes on her while on the job, mostly from those who would at one point seek to test their mettle against an agent of the council. Oliver was very strict, however, in his rules governing acceptable behavior in the lighted areas. As the only neutral territory in the state, if he blacklisted them, it would most certainly require a change of location in order to find sanctuary. This one rule, alone, kept her skin intact as she identified two incubi and a siren circling on the lower deck.

The VIP lounge was set behind a sheer curtain that obscured the man sitting at a large table minimally. Leaning inside, the hostess announced their arrival and Camilla watched as he lifted his hand and gestured them inside lazily. Oliver was not a large man, slight in his build and countenance. His bone structure was incredibly pronounced which made him look gaunt despite the fact that he was always well fed. The effeminate nature of his body was enough to force most of his enemies to misjudge the amount of power he concealed behind delicate features. Oliver was a muse of the ancient world, casting either fear or frenzy where ever he went. It was he that controlled the crowd below with the minutest of details, containing the power and harnessing it to spread throughout the customers so that any one individual wasn't overwhelmed by another.

Camilla sat opposite Oliver, sensing Natasha taking the other chair on her right, silent and deadly as ever. He took them both in curiously, his arms spreading over the booth at his back and a smile fastening to his mouth.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of a Guardian in my establishment?"

Unblinking, Camilla answered, "I have a proposition for you."

The toothy smile dropped, "You know my price."

"I thought maybe I could offer another option as payment." Camilla kept her voice level, but couldn't control the pounding of her heart or the sweat gathering at the nape of her neck. Anyone else might have attributed it to the unnatural heat of the room, but she knew that her anxiety was showing clearly. There was no helping it, the job needed to be done, and her adrenaline kicking in would have to be directed to more productive alleys.

"I'm listening," Oliver intoned, his hands dropping to press to the table. Camilla could see the faint twinkle of intrigue in his eyes and she knew if she played it right, he would take the bait.

Reaching slowly into her the folds of her halter, she slipped her fingers beneath the cup of her bra and pulled out the vial. Oliver's eyes followed her movements, a hungry expression replacing his curiosity, painting his face with shades of heat. She set the vial down on the lip of the table, keeping it close enough to snatch back just in case.

"Tears," she asserted, "From a gypsy. They were harvested from life's greatest sorrow, the loss of a child."

Oliver's hungry expression grew nearly ravenous as his eyes narrowed to focus on the vial. Gypsy tears were valuable for spell work as the ancient magic in their bloodlines helped to bind the spell together and give it power and cohesion. The intense emotion during which they were harvested only served to add to the magical boost.

"What if I want my usual price?" Oliver questioned with a smirk.

She rolled her eyes, "You know very well I will turn you down."

Oliver smiled in condescension, "Always so firm about that. I can't possibly understand why—it's just a little blood. Or, are you squeamish?"

"Do you want the tears or not?"

He shifted in his seat and out of her periphery, Camilla saw Natasha shift with him, adjusting so that her gun would be more accessible. Oliver considered her offer for a long time, rolling his tongue around in his mouth until he finally nodded.

"What do you need?"

Camilla had to make a huge effort not to smile in satisfaction as she reached into her pocket and pulled out a lined sheet of notebook paper on which she'd drawn the unknown glyphs. She flattened the paper on the table and slid it over to him.

"Can you translate?"

He hummed as he read over the symbols, tapping his fingernails against the table in contemplation. Then, he laughed. "You can't be serious."

Nearly sighing, she replied, "What do they say? What are they for?"

Oliver slipped the paper back over to her, producing a pen from the lapel of his suit jacket. "This one here is a low level calling symbol for a demon. These three are for anchoring, and these four are for balance." He touched his tongue to his teeth, "This one, though, this one is rarely used—mainly because it's dangerous for even advanced wielders of magic. It calls for the destruction of a demon."

"Really?" Camilla whispered in intrigue.

"Don't go getting your panties in a knot, little lark. I said it was dangerous. If the blood is contaminated just a teensy weensy bit, the users will get pulled into the Other, behind the veil."

That really was a problem. The Other was an in-between realm that divided the living world from the spirit infested land of the supernatural. It was dark, dank, and reeked of death and disease. Camilla had been just once, briefly of course, and she didn't relish going back.

"I should add," Oliver slipped in, "that I cannot translate this one at the bottom—well, I can, but I can't tell you what it's used for." He continued when Camilla tilted her head patiently, waiting, "The glyph is… dark, very dark. It is the name of one of the four towers in the Other. I can't tell you which because I've never been there—nasty little place—but if you can pull a little material from the tower and bring it back through the veil, you should be able to activate the rest of the spell, no problem."

Camilla leaned back in her seat, considering their options until a light cough from Oliver brought her out of her thoughts. Shaking her head, she pocketed the notebook paper with his scribbling and tossed Oliver the vial.

As they rose and stepped through the curtain, Oliver called out, "You should stay and have a drink."

Ducking back inside, Camilla answered with a smirk, "Unlike you, I have work to do."

Without the hostess to lead them back to the entrance there were a lot more eyes on Camilla and Natasha as they made the trek down the stairs. Camilla wished she'd brought some kind of weapon with her, but if she pulled it in this kind of crowd, she was sure there would be blood on the dance floor by the end of it all and some of it would definitely be hers. Guardian blood was far too powerful to be dallying about within room full of those who stood against the council, and so she held herself in check as best she could even though her tattoos were beginning to itch from the dark forces pressing against her.

After finally returning to the parking lot, Camilla turned to Natasha to check that she was still on point. It was completely unnecessary as Camilla had the feeling Natasha would always, always, always be on point, but it made her feel better in the action. Natasha gazed back at her solidly, her shoulders high and square as they made their way back to the car. Halfway across the lot, Natasha tensed and Camilla, catching a foul scent, turned on her heel and peered into the night.

Standing just outside the light of a tall streetlamp stood a hunched man, his yellowed eyes glaring at them. Camilla stepped to the side, angling herself so that she stood between the man and Natasha. From across the distance she could hear him snarling deep in his chest, the sound rumbling along the pavement and vibrating against the soles of her feet. Werewolf, definitely.

"I don't think you know what you're doing," Camilla shouted, hoping that the strength of her voice would deter him.

Another growl sounded, "You think you're protected by the council?" He shifted on his feet and Camilla automatically paced in a small circle so that they were further away from the car.

"The council is just a figurehead. You know where the real power comes from." The statement was mostly truth as the council spent more time debating law than actually acting as a force for good. They left that to the Guardians, to whom they gave support in their discretion of eliminating evil.

The werewolf spat wetly to the ground and Camilla could see the brimming of claws along the fingers, blood dripping to the ground. If she didn't calm him down soon there would be no saving him from execution for attacking a Guardian in the open and unprovoked. She waited for further movement, focusing so hard in the dim light that her eyes ached. A sound from her left gave her half a beat of notice that allowed her to brace for impact. Another Were of some kind, possibly a cat, slammed into her body, knocking her to the ground. It bit at her arms and face, teeth and claws scraping.

Bullets sounded nearby, echoing in her ears as she pulled her knees up and shoved the cat several feet away. Rolling to kneeling, Camilla threw up her hands and caught its recoiling strike, feeling the power rise beneath the skin of her tattoos. They glowed in the night, writhing and maneuvering so that they expanded up and over her shoulders in curling spirals of light. As the cat's dark inner matter reached out for her it was met with inherent good of her Guardian blood, the power ripping through the cat's body and quite literally tearing it apart at the seams. In the space of a breath, Camilla was holding ash in her hands where there had once been physical matter. She glanced to the side as she rose, looking for Natasha. The redhead was standing over the body of the werewolf, her gun still aimed at the smoking body.

"It's probably dead," Camilla mumbled as she dusted the ash from her hands.

Natasha looked doubtful. "Don't you usually need silver for this?"

"Myth," Camilla laughed. "All myth. Bullets will kill just about anything—except demons."

"Good to know," Natasha replied, holstering her pistol. She gave Camilla a once over, her mouth twisting a little, "You're bleeding."

Indeed she was. There was blood running down in tiny trickles from where the cat had scratched and bit at her. She wiped at it absently, already scanning the perimeter for more potential attacks. The darkness and cool night air revealed nothing and no one. She figured it was time to get going while the going was good. In using her magic, she may have alerted Astar to her presence and it would be better to have already gotten then hell out of dodge when he started working on tracking her magical signature.

Easing tiredly into the backseat, Camilla pulled her sweater over her head checked her phone, unsurprised at the lack of messages. She slumped down with a heavy sigh, contemplating making a call to the council to see if they knew of Claire's whereabouts. She'd never gone off the grid before, had never been so difficult to locate. Camilla wondered if something had gone wrong, if her mentor was ill or reassigned or…she didn't know what. As it stood, she was pretty sure she was on her own.

Perhaps 'on her own' wasn't the right set of words. Natasha had held her ground against a werewolf and barely batted and eye. Darcy was fearless and ready. Tony was arrogant and seemed to love a challenge. And, Clint was probably one of the best hand-to-hand fighters she'd ever seen outside of another Guardian. It was possible that she could use each of them and the glyphs to finally destroy Astar once and for all. Was that what the supplicant had been trying to do while working the ritual? Had it backfired intentionally?

Natasha crossed her legs and regarded Camilla for a moment before saying, "How did you incinerate that cat?" It took Camilla by surprise that Natasha had been able to notice the species of the attacker while taking out the wolf all on her own. Really, it was about time that she stopped underestimating the agents she was working with, they seemed to have a handle accepting the strange and weird with that same stoic bravery she'd seen in her own team. The council's reach extended worldwide, but that didn't mean that they had wiped out all knowledge of the supernatural completely. There were bound to be people who had come up against it without actually knowing what it was.

Laughing, Camilla pulled at the edge of one of her sleeves, wincing a little as it shoved against a fresh cut, "These tattoos don't just tell the world that I'm a Guardian, they channel the power of my kind."

"Does that power often turn living things to ash?" The question was light in tone, but she could see the calculations being made behind Natasha's piercing eyes. The woman was working out how dangerous Camilla would be to her coworkers, and she was right to do so. Untrained potentials had to be kept away from the public for years before they could master the power that was unlocked upon the death of a Guardian in their bloodline. More than once Camilla had shot a trainer clear across the room in a fit of adolescent pique—though sometimes just to see what would happen.

Licking her lips, Camilla managed to keep her gaze on Natasha's face despite the need to look away in some ingrained for of shame for her abnormality. "It's happened, but I've had a lot of training controlling the magic. I'm not a risk for injuring others accidentally."

Nodding, Natasha's face suddenly dropped its stoic expression, softening into relaxation in a move so quick that, if Camilla hadn't been staring at her, she would have missed it. Tossing her hair, Natasha smirked at Camilla, "I don't suppose you could teach me that, could be useful."

"If I did, the council would probably cut my head off," Camilla retorted only half joking. "They don't take kindly to Guardians revealing our secrets. In fact, I'll probably be reprimanded just for leading you to the club."

"I've been there before," Natasha replied with a small shrug of her shoulders.

"Doesn't matter," Camilla rolled one shoulder, "You didn't know what it was before…now you do."

Nose twitching in thought, Natasha edged a question that had been asked of Camilla many times. "Who are the council?"

Camilla dropped her eyes to her hands, considering how much she could tell a relative stranger without risking the council's wrath. The woman was clearly a trusted agent of the government, a skilled fighter, and had experience in infiltration if her impressive calm was to be any indication. She had not hesitated to come along with Camilla to the club, had not questioned Camilla's judgment or plan. She had also been one of the few to not outright question Camilla's motives in coming to the mansion.

"The council is the ruling body over the Guardians. They locate, train, and send us on missions to maintain the balance between this realm and the dark realm just beyond the Other. They keep the secrets better left outside of public knowledge, though there has been talk of joining with other agencies to help maximize our reach."

"And Shield is your test drive," Natasha commented dryly. "You could have picked a more public option."

Camilla shook her head, "I don't think so. Shield is discrete, very discrete. We know your people can keep secrets."

"Sure can," Natasha replied with a tinge of venom in her voice. "So, is the glow-y thing all those marks can do?"

Camilla simply smiled, choosing not to answer by hiding her expression behind her hand. She shifted her eyes to the scenery, noting that they were slowing to pull into a familiar driveway. Tired and aching from the impact of the cat and the pavement, Camilla decided that she would take a long bath and then head to bed. The glyphs would settle themselves tomorrow along with any other problems that had developed while they were away. For now, she very much wanted to ease the growing ache in her body and to rest.

As soon as they stepped out onto the pavement, Camilla knew something was wrong. Mr. Coulson was standing at the door, speaking animatedly into his cell and gesturing angrily. There was debris blowing in the evening breeze and littered all along the stairway. Sparing the other woman a glance, Camilla darted up the stairs and into the house, her eyes widening as she took in the damage.

Tables were turned over and there were copious amount of holes in the walls, all too high to be delivered by a human. The panels of TV screens were torn down and the large flower arrangement had been smashed against the tiles. At the back of the room near the pillow pit the glass doors leading out onto a balcony had been blown to smithereens and the floor around the doorway crumbled like so much paper.

"Shit," Camilla breathed, her throat constricting. "What happened?"

Mr. Coulson stepped inside and answered, "More supernatural activity, but worse than before. There was no clear path of destruction, just mass chaos. We're assessing the damage now."

Camilla could definitely see that the damage was being thoroughly assessed by a team of probably untrained staff taking too many pictures and ruining the magical signatures with the flash. She almost shouted out to them, but stopped cold when a familiar face seeped out from the crowd.

"Kenny?" She said, confused. The man in question was dressed like the other staff in a slick black suit and tie. It was very strange to see him dressed in anything but a tank, jeans and boots as was his regular choice.

He turned and blanched, "The hell are you doing here?"

"Me?" Camilla snarled, "Who told you to come step all over my case?"

Kenny scoffed, "I've been here for six months working on this stupid demonic tracking. And here you are in the thick of a paranormal attack on the house—why am I not surprised?"

Before Camilla could be offended, Mr. Coulson stepped in, "Does someone want to tell me how you two know each other?"

Camilla's mouth twisted in distaste, "He's a Guardian, one of ours."

Kenny had the good grace to recognize that he was caught and he ducked his head, "I was sent ahead of Camilla to prevent this sort of thing from happening."

Mr. Coulson stared at him for half a beat, saying, "Well, you suck at it."

"Tell me about it," Camilla murmured, fighting against her rising ire.

"Shut it, Camilla, you're in enough trouble as it is."

Damn near offended, she exclaimed, "And how am I in trouble? I wasn't even here when this shit went down."

Kenny shook his head, "This is your demon, and you said you put him down."

"I did put him down," Camilla growled, now clearly beyond offended and heading straight towards angry. "I can't help that hell doesn't hold its devils in very long."

"Yeah, well that's not how the council sees it."

Eyes narrowing, Camilla lowered her voice and hissed, "No one has _seen_ the council in months. You have no idea what their perspective is on this and I'd appreciate it if you'd shut the fuck up and let me do my job."

During this exchange, Mr. Coulson listened with this entertained expression on his face, his eyes looking back and forth while they argued. Eventually, he said, "If you two children are done bickering, we've got to get this cleaned up."

"By all means," Camilla said lightly, stepping around the two men and heading off in the direction of her room. Stunned and flustered, she mentally berated Kenny for his intrusiveness and for putting his nose where it really wasn't wanted. She would have words with Claire about not warning her that there was another Guardian already working the case—that is, if Claire ever showed her face again. Where the hell was she and why had Camilla been left without a lifeline? Angry and confused, Camilla stomped back to her room and slammed the door, locking it behind her. She leaned against it, shoving her hands into her hair while she went over the events of the night.

Oliver had given her the translations (point for her), she and Natasha had been attacked (minus one point for injury, plus two for victory and knowledge of Natasha's skills), they had come home to a demonic attack of vicious resurgence (minus five points), Kenny had shown up (minus ten), and finally the lingering idea that her use of magic in defending her life was to blame for the mess she came back to that night (minus infinity). Camilla thought it might be prudent to check on Darcy, but she was sure the agents in the building had moved her to a 'secure' location once the catastrophe downstairs started up.

Sighing deeply, Camilla had to tell herself that she could not have known Kenny was lurking about (and possibly spying on her—_god that_ sucked) and she certainly could not have predicted the disaster down the hall after going so long in relative quiet. This was not entirely her fault and even though she may have had a part to play in it, she now had the tools to fix it. The glyphs would be used to finally and irrevocably destroy Astar once and for all, potentially allowing her to move on to more pressing matters at the bidding of the council.

Gathering her confidence back into a neat little ball and placing it on her shoulders, Camilla pushed away from the door and headed for the bathroom, intent on sinking into a hot bath for an hour or so until the fierce ache in her bones faded. Halfway across the room, a knock sounded at her door. Camilla stilled, hoping that if she didn't make a sound they would simply go away. They didn't, and the knock sounded again more firmly. Blowing out a breath, Camilla trudged to the door, her movements filling with intensity as she neared it. By the time she was turning the knob, Camilla was fuming.

"I don't have time for more of your bullshit, Kenny," She announced to… the wrong person. Standing at her door, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jeans was Clint. Camilla was a tiny bit mortified that she had yelled at the wrong person, but she was mostly relieved that she didn't have to deal with Kenny yet again that night.

He smirked, "Forgot my name already?"

Camilla ducked her head, "Sorry, having a bit of a rough night."

"I heard," he said, a bit of teasing in his tone, "Can I come in?"

Stepping to the side, Camilla intimated her assent and Clint ambled inside, his eyes darting around to take in the details. The room, admittedly, was still beige and still empty of any decoration, but it was at the very least clean. Surreptitiously, Camilla scanned the floors in case a pair of underwear had slipped from her suitcase. Thankfully, the expanse of space around the bed was embarrassment free and she wouldn't have to do a little tap dance around the tiny scrap of fabric in the hopes that he wouldn't notice.

Running her hands against her legs to dry her sweating palms, Camilla asked, "What can I do for you?"

Clint's smirk flinched and Camilla caught a flash of something warm brewing in his eyes, "The Widow said there was a fight."  
She laughed a little, "I wouldn't call it a fight, just an altercation. We took care of it, no problem."

"You're bleeding," he countered, looking pointedly at the sleeves of her sweater where the cuts had bled through.

Tugging self-consciously at the material, Camilla shrugged, "It happens. I was about to take a shower and get these cleaned up."

"Want some help?"

"Um," Camilla said lamely, her brows drawing together. Was he joking? Clint seemed the teasing type, or at least easy going enough to flirt easily with those around him. How, exactly, did someone respond to that kind of proposition in an equally casual manner?

Clint seemed to sense her conflict and drew away, opening the space between them, "Relax, Camilla."

She rolled her eyes, trying to let the comment slide off her shoulders, "I don't think that's in my skill set."

Dropping down onto her bed, Clint braced his elbows on his knees and regarded her for a moment, "You could learn, I think."

Uncomfortable with where the conversation was going, Camilla simply folded her arms over her chest and returned his gaze as carefully as she could. "I don't understand you."

"Not much to understand," he retorted in an almost listless manner. Turning his palms upwards, he continued, "I'm an open book."

Camilla hummed disbelievingly, "I don't believe that for a second. I'd bet money there's some serious layers underneath that smile."

Upturned palms dropping to hang loosely between his knees, Clint gave dismissive shrug of one heavily muscled shoulder. "I suppose you'll have to wait and see."

There was a shade of something in his words that hinted at a challenge, and Camilla (patient as she was) knew it would only be a matter of time. She only hoped that she would glimpse those hidden layers before her next mission was assigned as, likely, she would never see him again.

Clint pressed to standing and Camilla immediately dropped her hands to her sides and stepped out to balance her stance. She watched him notice that particular detail and shake his head, looking disappointed. Refusing to feel bad about an ingrained self defense mechanism, Camilla held her position and just managed to keep her hands from curling into fists. Her only concession was to shift on the balls of her feet and cock her hip to the side in order to keep from looking too stiff.

Clint moved past her to the bathroom and reached beneath the sink to find a standard first aid kit, setting it on the counter. "Take off your sweater, let me see the cuts."

Balking, she tapped her hands against her thighs, "I can take care of the cuts, Clint. I'm even first aid certified."

He laughed lightly, pulling out a few supplies and lining them up in a neat little row, "Indulge me, will ya?"

The word 'why' was on the tip of her tongue, but as she observed his practiced and controlled movements there came a hesitation that was wholly unfamiliar. After observing a few moments more, Camilla gave herself a mental nod and began to ease the sweater up her arms. Slipping into the bathroom, Camilla slid behind Clint and sat on the toilet, holding her forearms out for inspection with not a little bit of trepidation.

Clint finished laying out the supplies, took one look at her arms, and said, "Take the sweater off, Camilla."

This time she was unable to keep her fists from clenching into little balls of anxiety atop her knees. Her tattoos were drawn in sharp relief against her tawny skin, she stared at them for a moment, deciding that it didn't matter. Clint had seen the tattoos, had probably already heard what they could do from Natasha, and looked relatively unfazed by the thought of actually touching them. She slipped the fabric from her shoulders and pulled it from her arms, throwing the ruined garment to the ground by the tub. Clint crouched before her and turned her arms over, looking intently at the rather superficial cuts down the length of each bony appendage.

After dotting antibacterial ointment on each cut, he bandaged them carefully, patting her knee as he rose. All this he performed in silence, his face a mask of intense concentration. Camilla watched him without question, testing the bandages a little while his back was turned. It was a strange sensation to have someone patching her up after an injury—strange, but not unwelcome. Camilla rose and thanked him quietly, pressing her palms to her hips cautiously. Clint acknowledged her gratitude with a nod, leaning down to replace the first aid kit beneath the sink.

"You can thank me with pancakes."

She scoffed loudly, "You know, you're going to get sick of them and then where would we be." Briefly, she wondered if she would need to throw some variation on them the next time they spent any healthy amount of time in the kitchen. It wouldn't do for the recipe to become old hat so quickly, especially when they were favored so highly.

Clint leaned against the counter casually, tilting his head to the side and Camilla had to look away or risk staring at the way the light and shadow rolled over his skin, "I don't think so."

"I certainly think so," Camilla shot back. "They're supposed to be an occasional treat—some things you've just got to savor. Besides, I'm out of cottage cheese."

He smirked, "Oatmeal and cottage cheese just shouldn't go together."

"Yeah," She intoned with a laugh, "Rethinking how much you like them?"

Eyes flicking upwards and holding, Clint answered, "Not at all."

For the very first time, Camilla felt something pull strongly from somewhere deep in her body, urging her mind to sit up and take careful notice of the way he was looking at her. She had been leered at, she had been looked upon with disdain, she had been praised, and admonished, and ignored. But, Camilla Paige had never had someone look at her as if she was worth more than what she could give to them, as if there was something about her that somehow needed to be cared for—that was how Clint was looking at her in that moment.

The seconds stretched thin between them, ticking ever more slowly as Camilla made connections in her head which led to conclusions that really weren't tenable. She dropped her eyes and counted the tiles on the floor, feeling her face burn with heat that felt similar to embarrassment. Camilla identified the feeling quickly, noting that it was as far from embarrassment as one could get and still involve blushing cheeks.

Out of her periphery, she saw Clint step away from the counter so that his booted feet were inches from her heels. He reached out and tapped one finger beneath her chin pointedly. Looking up, Camilla flinched at how close he was to her. From her position she could see the tiny flecks of gray in his eyes and the rough scratch of stubble along his jaw. She could feel his breath moving over her cheeks and lips, could feel the emanating heat.

Taken aback, it took a moment for Camilla to form any kind of thought. She ran through a couple of ideas in her head that ranged from comedic relief to outrage, finally settling on the obvious, "What are you doing?"

He dropped his chin a little closer, eyes catching her so that he knew he had her attention. Camilla, felt a burst of pride that she wasn't reeling back into the safety of distance and space. In any other situation she would be throwing the sweater back on and saying something about needing to leave, but the earnest expression in his eyes held her very still in anticipation.

The thumb at her chin circled while Clint contemplated his answer, pressing into the dimple just below her lip. "Savoring."

**I know that there aren't as many Clint lovers out there as Loki and Darcy, but I really do appreciate everyone who has been keeping up with this continuation of Pawn Takes King. Its even given me a little thought for a third story involving the beloved and STILL LIVING Agent Coulson. Let me know what you think!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Here's the sixth chapter in the story, and I hope to be picking up speed in all aspects of the storyline with this one. The next chapter is completed and I'm thinking there will probably be ten or eleven chapters total. **

The vision blended so seamlessly into Camilla's consciousness that at first she thought she was dreaming. Astar's face shimmered before her, smiling cruelly as he stood in a circle of blazing fire. She could feel the heat tearing at her skin and a wild wind whipped mercilessly at her hair. Try as she might, there was no getting around the limitations of her sight and, though she recognized the setting as the training floor of the mansion, Camilla was unable to gather more information before she returned to consciousness.

Gasping for breath, Camilla pushed her hair from her eyes and rested her head heavily in her hands. The morning sun was streaming into the room, muted by the tall hedges at the window. Still, she was flushed with cold sweat, panting, and shaking from the adrenaline of the vision. It was too realistic to be a dream, and far too dark to be a good omen of things to come. Camilla knew there would be a confrontation with Astar at some point or another, there had to be if she was to bind him once more to the depths of hell. However, she didn't like seeing the ring of fire burning in the training room or the way Astar had smiled so condescendingly at her. It made her think that there was something she was missing about the glyphs, the spell, or the events surrounding Darcy's near death.

Pushing the bedcovers down over her trembling legs, Camilla slid off the mattress and padded over to the bathroom, grabbing clothes on the way. She needed to wash the sweat and the stink of fear from her skin before going out to see how things had shaped up around the house. As she had predicted, Astar was clearly not finished with this house and the people living in it. Even further, the activity had seemed to intensify well past the point of mild interaction. Camilla was sure that Astar was going to strike sooner rather than later and she wanted to be ready when it finally happened.

What was even more clear was that Camilla was going to make a trip to the Other in order to gather stones from one of the towers at the center. The Other was a small world—small because it was so incredibly thin—that divided the human perception of the world from the home of all things supernatural on earth. It was quite simply a vast plain with four towers that marked North, South, East, and West. With experience, someone could move through the veil into the Other, explore the four towers, and get back out again in less than five minutes of perceived time. Camilla had been there only once and that had been pure accident.

Astar tried to retreat during the last exorcism into the Other and she, like an idiot, had followed blindly through the veil into the surrounding mist. She was lucky that Claire had been there as a backup and had pulled her back through before Astar could catch her, his powers magnified as he neared his own world. The short glimpse she had gotten of the Other was enough to make her hesitant about her inevitable attempt to reenter the world. The plane was dark, cold, and grey, filled with a mist that obscured the edges where it pressed against either realm. The towers shot out from the ground viciously, their pinnacles burning as beacons at the four corners, marking the entryways where the veil was at its thinnest.

Shivering despite the heat of the shower, Camilla shook the thoughts from her head and reasserted to herself that no matter how much the Other scared her, she would have to deal with it and acquire the necessary earth and stone so that she could complete the ritual and finally be rid of the nuisance that was Astar. If Oliver was to be believed, the glyphs would not only bind Astar, but destroy him completely, thus freeing Darcy from any future attacks. It was that fact alone that made the attempt worth the trouble, her own freedom from the demon was a mere bonus.

Pulling clothes over her body, Camilla checked her face in the mirror, wincing at the puffy eyes and the dull skin. Grimacing, she shoved away from the counter and moved back into the bedroom, telling herself that she had never been vain before and now was not the time to start as there were bigger things that required her attention. She could doll herself up all she wanted, later. Now, she needed to find Darcy and to speak with Kenny about making preparations for her jump through the veil.

As per usual, Camilla found Darcy curled up in the pillow pit with her boyfriend. His expression was decidedly deathly as she approached, but Darcy seemed genuinely happy to see her. Camilla waved sheepishly, sitting at a nearby table to wait for Darcy to pull herself from the pillows. As she waited, she was once again struck with the protection spells littering the room and down the halls. They would need adjustment and rewriting if they were to hold any kind of fortification against Astar while they worked to bind him.

"How proficient have you become at magic?"

Darcy stumbled up out of the pit and swung her long heavy hair over her shoulder, "Loki says I'm pretty good, but he's biased."

Camilla glanced to Loki, who seemed even taller than when she'd last encountered him, his aura filled with this intimidation that was barely contained. Swallowing back the rise of anxiety, Camilla lifted her brows in question.

Loki shrugged loosely, "She has shown much improvement in a small amount of time. Why do you ask?"

"I thought," Camilla replied, "that we could reinforce the protection spells around the house as they don't seem to be holding against preternatural activity. I'll need Darcy to write them, though. I'm really awful at practical magic."

Loki's eyes narrowed, but Darcy whooped a little, throwing her hands in the air. "Finally, I'm better at something than a professional!"

Camilla shook her head, laughing, "Does that mean you'll help?"

"Does the Pope wear a dress?" Darcy shot back wryly, turning to Loki. "The answer to that question is 'totally'."

It took a little prompting, but Darcy managed to start working on locating and organizing the protection spells almost immediately. Loki stood nearby, offering a little guidance, but remaining more hands off about the process than Camilla would have otherwise predicted. In speaking off handedly with him, Camilla was able to discern that Loki's form of magic was not nearly compatible with the demonic. His efforts during the last attack had been minimally effective at best, worrisome at worst. He had, had to resort to pulling Darcy from the fray, protecting her physically as much as possible from the flying debris. Fortunately for everyone in the building, the demon had not physically manifested, using only intimidation to raise the anxiety level so that it could feed off the energy.

After having finished the main areas, Camilla hesitantly asked if the training room would be available to them. Darcy's shrug was enough permission for Camilla to head to the elevator, motioning that they should follow. The training room was two floors down into the earth and larger than any warehouse Camilla had ever seen. Equipment of all kinds lined the walls and criss-crossed the area, impressing her with the range of skills that could be practiced in one room. She craned her neck, peering towards the back of the room where a small arsenal lined the wall. Apparently Shield was just as stocked as the Guardians when it came to the choice of firepower. She didn't know if she felt relieved or apprehensive at that particular realization.

Darcy bounced around, pulling Loki along and asking question after question for almost an hour, all the while resetting the protective spells she'd inadvertently written while performing her day to day tasks as Tony's assistant. Camilla, for her part, gave little guidance and refused to acknowledge that continual surprise in the forefront of her mind as Darcy had been confirmed as a potential and this sort of aptitude for magical practices was to be expected. Still, it was nice to see her excitement and to relive her own young excitement upon first interacting with Guardian magic. Even Loki seemed to be pulled into the animation of Darcy's pleased exhilaration. He kept a hand on the small of her back, leaning down to speak with her occasionally, but spending most of his time looking proud of her.

Sensing their unconscious need for privacy, Camilla shoved her hands deep in the pockets of her hooded sweatshirt and strolled away. She took a look at the punching bag, battered within an inch of its life, and the weights which were no lighter than seventy five pounds. There were slews of jump ropes and boxing gloves in their own individual cubby holes, peeking out at her. As she turned towards the back of the room, Camilla approached the rack of various weapons, knives, guns, and a few that she couldn't quite readily identify. They were sleek and mostly made of some kind of dull black metal that didn't shine at all in the lights.

Engrossed as she was in the weapons on the rack, she barely heard someone approach, their steps lightly tapping against the floor. It was a credit to her training that she didn't flinch when an arm hoisted near her shoulder, replacing a folded bow onto an empty pair of hooks. Clint slipped the quiver from his back and set it aside, patting it gently before turning to her.

"How're the arms?"

Having removed the bandages that morning, Camilla answered confidently, "Healing just fine, thank you."

"Let me see." He reached out a hand, palm up, and Camilla slipped her arm into the offered cradle without really thinking. As his fingers closed around the thin limb, she suddenly recognized the potential power she had given him. His sure grip could very well break her bone, pull her to the ground, or push her into a prone position. Her free hand twitched a little as her mind went immediately to the weapons rack, sensing which she might choose in a fight. There was no doubt in her mind that Clint was well trained in all the weapons displayed, but at least armed she might have a fighting chance.

Tamping down the urge to fight or flee, Camilla allowed Clint to push up the fabric of her sweatshirt and turn her arm over, his eyes gauging the healing of the wounds and searching for potential infection. His touch was far gentler than she could have imagined, the pads on his fingers testing her skin carefully.

"Looks good," he pronounced, glancing up at Camilla.

She shrugged, "I'm a fast healer."

It was a cliché statement of the obvious, but Camilla really couldn't think of anything to say when he was still holding onto her arm, his palm warm against her skin. It took a valiant effort, but she managed to keep her breathing even and controlled and her eyes on his face. Clint was showing a lot of concern for someone he barely knew, but Camilla appreciated it nonetheless. The feeling of being taken care of from the previous night filtered over to the present, filling Camilla with a sense of security that was entirely alien.

Guardians were solitary as a necessity, their work—that is, the demonic—often followed them to their homes and anyone close to them would, by proximity, become a target. Camilla couldn't remember the last time she'd been shown any kind of real compassion that extended farther than pity for her life's situation. She really wasn't sure how to react, exactly, whether to show gratitude or to brush him off in fear of showing weakness. In her indecision, Camilla ended out holding very still and allowing Clint to hold her arm for almost a minute in silence that really should have been awkward, but landed just short of serene.

Darcy's excited squeal of laughter cut into Camilla's concentration and she pulled her arm from Clint's grasp, turning her attention across the room. Loki had Darcy balanced on one shoulder, his arms wrapped around her knees as she reached up to tackle one of the higher spells. Darcy was pressing one hand atop Loki's head, a foot kicked out to keep her steady on his shoulder while she worked. The sight was almost endearing, if Darcy hadn't looked half terrified and wasn't threatening certain vital body parts if Loki dropped her.

The scene was interrupted by the slamming of doors and Camilla's stomach rolled as she watched Kenny's head bob along to the arrogance in his swagger. That repulsion dimmed a little as three other familiar faces followed him through the door. Lucy, Miranda, and Will rounded out the group of Guardians assigned across the region to handle any suspicious paranormal activity that happened to catch the notice of the council. As a group, they looked more ragamuffin than professional, though Kenny was still wearing a crisp shirt and slacks. Will, tall and broad shouldered, ambled behind him in a tank top and basketball shorts. Lucy hunched down a little, unused to bright lights and attention, her inky black hair tucked beneath the brim of a baseball cap. Miranda, the youngest out of all of them, still carried that exuberance of the freshly trained Guardian, her bright, pale eyes catching Camilla's attention as intensely as her wide smile.

"Camilla," Miranda called out, nearly sprinting forward to give her a hug. "It's so good to see you."

Camilla returned the embrace loosely, happy to see that their newest initiate had made it through her first year as a fully fledged Guardian. "I'm so glad you could make it."

Kenny scoffed and observed the room, his dark eyes spending a little more time on Clint than was strictly necessary. The archer had moved to stand less than a foot behind her and off to the side, hands relaxed at his sides though his eyes were concentrated on the newcomers. Camilla could see the ill suited battle of wills being danced around a little as Kenny tried to figure out if Clint was ally or enemy. Thankfully, Miranda was already digging in her bag and presenting Camilla with a box.

"I was told to give this to you when I got here."

Camilla took the box, a well made wooden contraption, plain but shining with glaze. She opened it, peeking inside, and immediately slammed it closed, tucking it to her chest. Swallowing, Camilla took a glance at the Guardians, each looking more curious by the second. When she dared check the contents again, they hadn't changed, a set of three long nails lying side by side on a velvet cushion.

Turning the box outward, she presented it to the group. "Was this from Claire?"

Miranda nodded, "Well, from her aide. The council has had her off-grid since they began debating in-session." That would explain her absence, but the gift was another story.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" Her answer was a group of blank stares from the people who should have been just as informed as she. Rolling her eyes, Camilla set the box behind her on the weapons counter, leaning against it.

"Obviously, Claire wants us to use the implements of Christ's crucifixion in the binding spell." Though, God knew why Claire would entrust such rare and valuable artifacts into the care of Camilla, her wayward Guardian. "Astar is a demon who answers to the Christian god, so that makes sense. But why now, why not give these to us the first time we worked to bind him?"

By this time, Darcy had approached and was listening intently to the conversation, she held up a hand, "Maybe because she knows we have the glyphs to destroy him now?"

The full weight of Guardian focus rested upon her, and Camilla had to give the girl credit for not flinching under Kenny's disdainful glare.

"Point," Camilla asserted, "That's what we'll do, then."

"Hold up," Kenny called out, and Camilla had to resist the urge to slap the palm of her hand to her forehead. "I think we should rethink this. Camilla, you're obviously way too close to the situation to be thinking clearly. There is _no way_ to completely destroy a demon, it's not humanly possible."

"Oliver seems to think differently," Camilla shot back, defensively. Of course, she was close to the situation, but Astar had always been her assignment, whenever he chose to show up. She knew him better than any other Guardian, had felt him inside her body, possessing her. There was no one who was prepared to do what may be necessary in order to keep him from harming others.

"And you believe the muse over centuries of council knowledge?"

"I believe that Oliver is the most skilled magician and spell writer on the planet, possibly better than any devil of hell. His opinion carries a lot of weight." The others were backing away and rounding out in preparation for a fight. It rarely ever occurred, but Camilla had always had a conflict-filled relationship with Kenny, and their arguments were known to be destructive.

"That's just like you," Kenny replied in derision, "You know what your problem is, you lack loyalty to your kind. You trust outsiders more than your own training and education."

"Are you serious?" Camilla asked, exasperated. "I have fought for this mission, for the council, far longer than my initiation. I have been working towards keeping the balance since before I hit puberty. You cannot stand there and tell me that I lack loyalty."

Kenny's eyes narrowed and darkened dangerously and Camilla felt her stomach drop in a way that signaled impending disaster. He hissed, "And what about before then, huh? What about when Astar had you under his sway? What about when you were slaughtering your mother, father, and brother, bathing in their blood? Where was your loyalty then?"

Her throat tightened uncontrollably and she became aware of the many sets of eyes trying to push into her memories and find the truth. He was right, she had murdered her family while Astar possessed her. Claire performed one of her first exorcisms on a young girl covered in familial blood and laughing hysterically at the skin still hanging from the butcher knife. Camilla dealt with those memories ages ago, though there still lingered guilt and grief for her actions and her loss. Kenny bringing forth a past that had long since been forgiven by the council was a desperate move, uncalled for and intimating that he felt threatened by Camilla. She knew this, but there was no stopping her vicious rebuttal.

"The same place your loyalty was when you trapped and killed fifty six innocent children," she bit out hoarsely. "At least I had the excuse of being possessed by a demon, your report read that they were collateral damage."

Oddly enough, it was Lucy who spoke up to stop the fight, "Both of you shut up, that's all classified information and we don't exactly have the luxury of time right now. Kenny, make a run for the materials we need." Her voice, usually very soft, was firm with commanding authority.

Kenny stepped away from the group, still glaring at Camilla, "Need some air, anyways."

Camilla watched him go with a hard stare, working to temper her rage and frustration into something worthwhile and productive. The anxious look on Miranda's face was enough to bring her back on track, if only for their weakest link to hold steady. They would all capable hands at the ready when Astar finally arrived, and Miranda hadn't yet seen a higher level demon at work.

Will ran a hand through his hair, "Has the oracle given any information?"

Camilla crossed her arms, "The oracle has been relatively silent on the matter. Nothing solid."

"Who is the oracle?" Darcy whispered in question.

Miranda nudged Lucy amiably, gesturing for the woman to answer Darcy. She deadpanned, "The oracle is one blessed with the gift of sight. We sometimes have to rely on them for extra help."

"Oh," Darcy replied, her mouth pursing, "Like, with a crystal ball?"

Lucy blinked, "It's a bit more complicated than that. Oracles are highly prized by their respective realms, and are, as such, are kept secret. We're luck this generation's seer is on our side."

Miranda added, "The books say that the last time the demons had their own oracle, it started the plague."

"And possibly the Inquisition," Lucy said, hoisting her backpack higher on her shoulder with a smile.

Will frowned, "Are we supposed to be talking about this in public?"

"What is the council going to do? They're too busy arguing to reprimand," Camilla said, feeling her sense of calm returning. "By the way, I'm heading into the Other this evening. Anyone want to come with me?"

Three sets of wide eyes stared at her for long seconds, and Camilla couldn't help the tiny bit of satisfaction that she felt in shocking the group into silence. Their looks continued until Camilla snorted and shifted her weight.

"I need earth from one of the towers to complete the spell that will destroy the demon," she explained, glancing at their increasingly anxious faces.

"That's suicide," Will said at a near whisper.

Camilla huffed, "I've been there before. I'll be in and out in less than two minutes if we choose the right entry point."

Lucy's gaze dropped to the ground for a moment, before glancing back up at Camilla from beneath the brim of her cap, "You're certain you have to get earth from the Other? You can't buy it at one of the markets?"

"That might take too long," Miranda chipped in. "Like Lucy said, we don't have a lot of time to negotiate with trolls."

There was a shared laugh as they all had been present at the last negotiation. It lasted for nearly six months and ended at a stalemate of stubborn insolence from both sides. Miranda was right, they didn't have the kind of time to deal with compromise and payments. The earth would need to come from the source in the Other and Camilla would just have to be extra careful that she made it in and out of the realm unseen. There was no telling how difficult it would be in practice, but the theory was that she would just have to take extra precaution.

"I saw a pool on the way in," Will offered helpfully. "We can use that to stabilize."

Darcy who looked full to bursting with restrained energy, finally broke her silence, "What's the Other? Why is it suicide? And why do we have to use the pool? You know, we just got that rebuilt, Tony would _kill me_ if we ruined it again."

Camilla smiled gently, "The Other is the space between realms, its suicide because the demonic use it as a pathway to humanity, and we have to use the pool to ground me in this world." She nodded at Will, "He's got a good idea, there, I don't necessarily like the thought of being buried or burned alive and I really can't fly." At Darcy's owl eyed look, she continued, "We have to use an element from this world to keep me from getting lost. The water will help me find my way back."

"Oh," Darcy replied, her mouth clicking shut on the syllable. "So, what, you float around while your mind goes off into never, never land?"

"Not exactly," Lucy scoffed, "She has to be completely submerged in the element while she goes. That's also why its _suicide._" Her voice had taken on a sharp venom that had Camilla ducking her head sheepishly. Going across the veil was probably not the most intelligent move for her to make—Oliver could be lying, Astar could be waiting, she could get lost and her brain could turn to scrambled eggs. The possibilities for this venture going wrong were endless and mostly life threatening, but she had to try. To fail to make the attempt was to give up this opportunity to eradicate a scourge upon the earth from her life and the lives of others.

Darcy blinked at her in concern, "Drowning would be bad."

"Yes, drowning would be bad," Camilla echoed. "But, I don't plan on drowning tonight. Like I've been saying, I'll be in and out in less than two minutes. And I have the team here to help if something goes wrong."

Three sets of eyes dropped to the floor and Camilla knew that to ask them to provide support was like the blind leading the blind. She had no idea what would happen and they had even less of an idea, which made the situation just as dangerous as Lucy was predicting. Still, they had to keep a united front (false, but united) when standing before outsiders. Camilla only hoped that their union would continue into the night.

By the time Kenny returned from gathering the supplies needed for the exorcism, Camilla had already requisitioned an air tank from somewhere deep in Tony's supply closet and was setting it up near the crystal clear waters of the pool. The night was drawing near and the temperature had dropped to chilly, but the pool was heated and Darcy had brought her plenty of fluffy towels. She stood off to the side gripping Loki's hand tightly while Camilla sat on a nearby chair to take off her sneakers. Somewhere in the chaos and continued arguments for her to stop this whole process, Clint had disappeared to god knows where. It surprised her how much she felt disappointed that he didn't want to be around for this—not that it was going to be very dramatic. For the observers, she would simply be sitting at the bottom of the pool for an extended amount of time, not exactly the most entertaining activity for a Friday night.

Sighing, Camilla stood in her bare feet, flexing her toes against the cement. She turned to look at the skyline of the city coming to life as the light faded in the setting sun. It was a reminder of all the reasons she continued to fight despite the loneliness, the injuries, and the nightmares. There was a whole world of people out there living their lives feeling safe in the knowledge that monsters didn't exist outside of children's stories. They went to work every day and spent time with their families, all ignorant of the fight constantly going on just behind closed doors. Camilla knew that there were some who could help with the mission of the council, there were those like the super humans standing around the rim of the pool—like Darcy and Tony. But, there were also those who simply couldn't handle the understanding that humanity simply wasn't alone and that there were creatures that wouldn't blink at tearing a person in half.

The water was surprisingly lukewarm as Camilla began to wade down the embankment towards the deep end. Lucy gave her a hesitantly supportive nod from her position at the lip of the pool. She would be the first to make the jump after Camilla should she be submerged too long. Will sat just behind her, head dropped into his hands in disbelief of her attempt. At the edge of the water opposite Lucy stood Miranda, an air tank at the ready. And then there was Kenny, sneering at her from the far end.

Ducking deeper into the pool, Camilla swam out until her feet could no longer touch the base of concrete and she treaded water for a moment. Her team stared at her in silence, none willing to stop the plan she had in motion. Feeling the pressure of their collective apprehension and expectations, she turned from them and faced the shallow end before the skyline.

Sitting on one of the folding lawn chairs with his shoulders hunched low was Clint. He observed her with a mask of practical stoicism that she was beginning to recognize as a natural default stemming from the nature of his job. She sent him a half-hearted smile before releasing all the breath in her lungs. After a deep inhale, Camilla allowed herself to fall beneath the surface of the water and sink to the bottom of the pool.

Settling into a comfortable position, Camilla closed her eyes traced the glyph for entrance into the Other even though her hands hadn't stopped shaking since taking her first step into the pool. No sooner had she finished tracing the glyph did the world begin peeling away to reveal the plane of mist. With a single beat of her heart, Camilla was sitting in a small inlet just before one of the entrances to a massive spire. She glanced around quickly, checking for potential attackers and rising swiftly to a defensive stance. Everything around her was blurred enough with the bend of time and space that it took Camilla several seconds to push down the rising bile.

When her mind had righted itself and her stomach had settled enough that she was sure she wouldn't vomit, Camilla turned and faced the tower, searching for the naming glyph scratched high into the stone. Not recognizing it as the tower she needed, Camilla glanced towards the other three corners of the plane, spying the correct decrepit mound of stone and earth to her left. Unwilling to waste time, she began to jog across the empty space at a determined pace. With each subsequent step, the world around her darkened ominously until she was straining to see in the dim, fading light.

Chills rolling over her skin, Camilla skidded to a stop and glanced around, her hands flying out to balance out the forward momentum. She listened, unused to the thunderous silence of the in-between world. Nothing moved, not even the air, but even still she was filled with this dread that signaled she was no longer alone. Spurring into action, Camilla shoved her body the last few steps and slammed into the tower, her hands grasping at the stone to yank it free. It crumbled a little in her hands, coating her forearm with dust and grime that oozed rather than dropped in dusty waves.

She had to stare at her hand as the ooze continued to drip along her skin with thick, black sludge that reeked to high heaven. Glancing up at the tower, Camilla observed how it groaned with the intrusion, arching away from her like some sentient living thing. There was no time for remorse for potential hurting the thing as a cold wind suddenly whipped around the bend, sending her reeling. Camilla ducked into a roll, holding her arm to her chest to protect the stolen earth. Though there was nothing physically nearby, she knew that a presence had arrived, possibly lured by her humanity, into the Other.

As the darkness continued to descend, she began to hear some kind of scraping along the length of the tower above her. Pushing to standing, Camilla backed away slowly, her eyes searching the corrugated stone for movement. The dark and the mists swirled with the remnants of the winding wind around the column, but nothing moved aggressively forward. She exhaled, feeling her chest begin to constrict painfully, an occurrence reminding her that she was still physically sitting at the bottom of a pool.

Feeling her time running out, Camilla turned tail and sprinted as hard as her legs would allow towards the entrance point. Behind her, something large and vicious roared to life and a pounding shook the ground beneath her feet, knocking her off balance. She fell to the ground, wincing as the stone in her hand cracked her knuckles. It took a prolonged moment of scramble for Camilla to regain her footing and make the final leap toward the entrance. She slammed into the inlet and scraped her nails into the waiting glyph, activating it. The mark glowed and burned in the shadows, but she remained firmly planted in the Other.

Breathing hard, Camilla glanced frantically towards the oncoming creature, seeing a thumping shadow growing larger. Letting out a frustrated scream, she clawed at the mark, feeling her fingers chafe and bleed under the pressure. Still, the world wouldn't bend back into its natural state and Camilla was left huddled as close to a nearby wall as possible, shaking in fear. The form slowed to stop just outside the ring of light offered by the burning tower. It paced along the rim, sniffing the air for its prey. She watched it move with a concentrated gaze, biting her lip to keep the whimpers from pushing past her throat.

It occurred to her that this was the first time since completing her training that Camilla felt completely helpless. Her tattoos weren't tingling with the power running through her veins and she had no weapons other than the stone still in her hand. The Other was negating all power granted to her, and she finally understood what it was like to be a normal person facing the demonic. When she was a child, she had viewed it through innocent eyes, terrified but uncomprehending. Now, she knew just what was waiting for her outside the ring of fiery light, the thing huffing steaming breaths into the mist.

Feeling a resurgence of powerful emotion, Camilla slammed her hand down on the glyph several times in succession, rubbing her life's blood over the mark. Finally, something moved and morphed, bringing her back to the watery depths of Tony's pool. She watched the scene from an outsider's perspective, seeing the frozen frame of time just milliseconds from being sucked back into her own body. Kenny had waded into the pool and was holding her beneath the water, a strained look on his face. Off to the side, she could see Clint a few feet away, arms outstretched to disentangle her body from Kenny's grip.

All around there seemed to have developed chaos—Darcy was screaming, barely held back by Jane and Miranda looked positively conflicted. Lucy was trying to throw off her jacket to join the fray and Will had lifted his hands in exasperated surrender. Somehow during the time she had been submerged, Natasha had arrived and she could see her reaching for the gun holstered at the hip. All of this moved around her at an astonishingly slow pace, lasting only half a beat before she was shooting up through the water and gasping for breath.

Clint's arms slipped around her waist, pulling her against his body and away from Kenny towards the shallow end. She allowed herself to be carried to where the water lapped at the edge, the stone still clutched between her clenched fingers. Lying on her back, the sky never looked so clear or so welcome to her, a reminder that she was in fact still alive and breathing (though barely). She inhaled deeply several times, spitting water from her mouth while she worked to calm her heart. From nearby she heard Clint calling to her, asking for her to focus.

"I'm okay," Camilla croaked. "I'm okay."

His face came into view, hair dripping and mouth set so firm she thought his jaw might crack beneath the pressure. Pressing her palm to the concrete, Camilla shifted to sitting, glad when Clint used one arm of prop her against his knee. He supported her around her waist with his free hand, easing her dizzy body so that she could look at Kenny as he waded back out of the water.

"The fuck, Kenny?" She called out with as much force as she could manage despite her fatigue.

Kenny shrugged, "I thought you might need more time."

"Well, I fucking didn't," Camilla bit out, barely concealing her rage. "I was trying to activate the glyph, if you would have taken two seconds to pull your head out of your ass."

Suddenly embarrassed at her near failure, Camilla tried to stand and had to rely heavily on Clint to force her muscles to cooperate. His aid was given in silence, but she could feel the tension in his body, as if the adrenaline hadn't quite worn off. Sighing, Camilla rubbed his arm in comfort, shaking her head and smiling in an attempt to dispel his ill feelings.

From nearby, Kenny laughed mirthlessly, "I can't believe you." He regarded her with a pointed glare, "Look at you, can you really believe these people are here to help you? That they're your friends? We don't have friends, Camilla, and you're better off remembering that." His voice rose to address the whole of the group, which had grown larger with the confrontation.

Camilla blushed furiously as he continued to speak, "You cannot save her, do you hear me? Anything you do to help will only make you a target. Do yourself a favor, let us finish the job, and then forget we ever existed. She," he pointed at Camilla, who couldn't even manage to lift her head to gauge their reactions, "Is a murderer. We all are. Don't fool yourself into thinking we are worth caring about—it will only lead to disappointment."

Unable to take any more of Kenny's tirade, Camilla stepped away on watery legs and made for the living room. She padded, sodden, through the room and down the hall, pushing through her door and locking it behind her. Scrubbing the water from her face, Camilla trudged to the bathroom and stripped down to nakedness, setting the stone safely on the sink next to the box containing the nails. Mechanically, she toweled the remaining water from her body and slipped into her yoga pants and tank top, forgoing underwear as she'd inconveniently run out. Pausing, she allowed her hands to fall to her sides and her head to drop down to her chest. Despite the relative drama of the last half hour or so, nothing had changed. She still had a job to do, and she still would be leaving at the end of that job. It didn't matter that she had become attached to the occupants of the house or that there was some semblance of comfort in their friendly support.

Chastised and admonished, Camilla sighed deeply and stepped out of the bathroom with the intent of sleeping for as long as her body would allow so that she might forget the night's events. Clint, it seemed, had other plans as he had somehow made it into her room unnoticed and was currently leaning against the empty dresser, still damp from the pool.

"Look, I'm sorry about Kenny. He's always been a little bit of a zealot," she explained, pressing her palms together in supplication.

Clint blinked, "He tried to drown you."

"I know, sorry about the ruckus."

"Why are you apologizing?" He barked in reply. "You have nothing to apologize for. Your team should apologize to you for letting that asshole try to kill one of their own—and if you apologize again I will shut you up with force, understood?"

Holding both hands up, Camilla surrendered. "Sheesh. I'm just trying to be a good houseguest. He has a point, though, I've made everyone here a target with my own arrogance. I thought I could get rid of Astar and I keep mucking things up."

Clint's shoulders sagged a bit as he glanced off to the side, "In case you hadn't noticed, we're all targets. Hell, I spent several days as a lackey for a psychopathic warlord once. You can't blame yourself for the risks we willing take."

Rolling her eyes, she answered him, "You shouldn't have to take those risks. This isn't your fight, Clint." And that was the unmitigated truth. The Guardians were assigned to keep the demonic at bay, not outsiders, no matter how highly trained they might be. It was unprofessional for her to rely so heavily on them when she had an entire team to use as resources.

"It may not have started out that way," he countered, "But it certainly is now. We gotta protect our cook, can't have you maimed at breakfast time."

She felt the fire of annoyance stirring in her gut. "This isn't a joke," Camilla cried, "The demonic wouldn't think twice to use you in an attempt to stop me from destroying them."

Stepping up to her, Clint cradled her shoulders gently, his expression very serious, "Why don't you let me worry about that." Something about the way he was looking at her gave Camilla pause. She returned his gaze for long seconds, trying hard to discern just what he was trying to tell her nonverbally and failing in her task for the second time that night. It wasn't until Clint's grip on her skin tightened almost imperceptibly and he leaned down purposefully that Camilla's brain finally kicked in and recognized the situation.

Pulling away, she held up her hands, "I can't do this."

"Do what?" he asked, his expression painted in shades of innocence.

Eyes narrowing, she answered him in simple syllables, "Whatever this is, I can't do it."

"Can't or won't?" There was no allusion in his statement, the words hard and forceful.

"Can't," she replied. "I literally cannot. I don't know how."

He blinked three times, his jaw loosening a little, "Don't know how to what?"

"You've got to be fucking kidding me, really?" Camilla shot back, incredulous. Was he really that dense or had he decided that he would simply kill her with embarrassment and get it over with? She pressed her hands to her hips and shifted on the balls of her feet, considering him for a long time while the silence wore on between them.

Rubbing furiously at her face and deciding that she simply didn't care, Camilla blurted, "I've never had a relationship. As in, ever."

Shrugging, he said, "Relationships are difficult for people in our line of work."

Camilla shook her head vehemently, "I don't think you get my meaning."

"Why don't you make it clear?" He retorted, smirking. "Help me out a little, Camilla, I'm only a man."

Biting her lip, she murmured, "That's kind of the point. I don't know how to be with men."

He squinted, his brows coming together in confusion, "You seem to be doing just fine right now."

"Yes," Camilla confirmed, "But not in relationships. I've never had sex and it's been something like five years since I've even worked one on one with a man." Stilted as it was, she was a little relieved to have finally said it and to find that she was still standing and the world hadn't opened up and swallowed her whole (even though she still wished it had).

Something changed in Clint's disposition at her admission. His whole body went still and his expression hardened to carved stone. He didn't look shocked, or surprised, or even revolted by her lack of experience, just stared at her unblinkingly. For a moment, Camilla thought he was having a seizure of some kind and she flexed her hands in preparation to put him in the recovery position. As it turned out, he wasn't seizing, he was simply thinking very hard about his next move.

"Have you been kissed?" Clint asked lowly.

Camilla spluttered, "Of course." She was a virgin, not a recluse. There had been a few parties in her youth before her training had been completed—and some afterwards. After the missions were completed and the adrenaline was still pumping, one or more of the team would head over to whatever dive was still open and drink until they couldn't stand. Often whole departments of agents that were ruled by the council would collect to debrief and more than once the supply closets had been used for trysts.

"Look," Camilla said, placating, the words tumbling out unchecked, "I'm very well educated on sexuality. I've been to seminars and the internet is a gold mine for anything one might find even remotely stimulating. I have toys and I'm comfortable with my body. I just haven't had, you know, a social orgasm." When his brows returned to their confused position, she explained, "You know, an orgasm when there's someone else in the room."

Recognition fired in his eyes and Camilla had to force herself to keep from dropping her gaze to the ground in mortification as her cheeks burned. Though her attention was still on him, Camilla wasn't quite prepared for the way he charged her, pushing her back into the wall beside her nightstand. Hands flying out to catch her balance, she watched him with wide eyes, unsure of what he could be thinking. Clint held her by her shoulders, gentle enough that she didn't have the urge to squirm away yet firm enough that she knew not to move.

Fingertips lifting, his hands slid around the bend of her shoulder to cup her jaw so that she was forced to look at him. His eyes flicked down over her body, taking in the still damp hair and skin beneath thin layers of fabric.

"Have you been touched?" He asked, voice like gravel.

Camilla scowled, "I—I don't understand."

Before she could even get the final word out, one hand fell to the neckline of her tank top and drifted low so that the back of his fingers brushed the rising mound of her breast. She swallowed and nodded, recalling the backseat of a car in the parking lot of a rather seedy neighborhood. It wasn't her finest hour, but it had happened despite her own misgivings about her safety. Camilla didn't, however, remember the sharp slivers of pleasure that followed Clint's movements happening back then. She wondered if it was the timing or her companion.

"And here?" He questioned further, slipping his hand down along her hip and skirting around the top of her thigh to press ever so slightly along the inner seem of her yoga pants. Camilla jumped a little at the touch, feeling her face flush a little in response. "Definitely not."

Setting her jaw, Camilla tilted her head to the side, "What are you trying to prove?"

Shrugging, Clint lifted both hands to slide down the length of her arms, tracing the edges of her tattoos. "I'm not proving anything, just investigating."

Not waiting for her answer, Clint pulled her from the wall by her wrists, backing up several paces while he gathered her close. Camilla went with him hesitantly, wondering at the easy way he was treating her, though his movements were direct and unyielding. In his own way, Clint was allowing Camilla to follow very clear, silent instructions, which only seemed to calm her uncertainty. She knew where he wanted her hands and hips, the way she should rest her weight and the tilt of her shoulders. It was as if everything had been choreographed somehow, adding a surety to her position and reactions.

They stood there in the middle of her Spartan room for a while, torsos pressed together until the heat from their bodies gathered in the open spaces where her curves bent away from his sharp angled lines. Clint ran his hands repeatedly through her drying hair, bunching it loosely in his fists and then letting it go to fall down her spine. Camilla, for her part, mostly bent her fingers into the fabric of his shirt, feeling the muscles of his arms roll with his answering actions.

"This is how it's going to go," Clint murmured, hands finally resting on her hips. "We're going to spend a little time together because I like you and you like me."

"You make it seem very simple," Camilla commented dryly, jutting out her chin.

Clint smirked, "It is simple. You're the only one here who wants to complicate things."

Eyes narrowing into a glare, she worked her jaw a little as she considered her options, "And after my assignment is over? What then?"

"Baby steps, Camilla," Clint replied lowly, his mouth brushing against the skin along her jaw. "Baby steps."

**It's kind of a strange place to cut the chapter, but I wanted to leave a little bit of the interaction to the imagination. No worries, though, this fic will eventually earn its M rating, like all my fics. **


	7. Chapter 7

**Oh look! Its a mid-week update. Thanks to everyone who is reading and reviewing. You guys are so awesome!**

Camilla sat for a long time on the edge of her bed staring at the flats on her feet, trying very hard to convince herself that the previous night had been a huge mistake. She had been unable to sleep with the residual tension and had, as a result, spent three hours doing laundry and reliving the experience of Clint's careful touches. The plus side was that Clint hadn't so much as even kissed her and that she was fairly certain the stumble in judgment could be corrected easily. Tapping her feet against the carpet, she tossed her hair back from her face and looked to the ceiling, asking whatever deity happened to be listening for some kind of guidance. She liked Clint, thought he was a decent guy who also happened to make her stomach flip every time he got within a few feet of her. But, her life definitely didn't lend itself to relationships and with Astar still lurking about she couldn't afford the distraction.

Standing, Camilla paced the room back and forth with her hands on her hips as she solidified her resolve. As much as she liked Clint, this was the best solution for both of them. Camilla would be leaving, probably within the week, and it just wasn't viable to start something that couldn't possibly be finished. Nodding absently, she dropped her hands and headed to the bathroom to check the stone and box. They sat exactly where she'd left them by the sink, looking more innocent than they probably should given their respective power. Reaching out, she lifted the lid of the box and peered at the three nails.

Claire had a knack for sending help exactly when Camilla needed it, but the crucifixion nails seemed excessive, even for the keeper. Furthermore, Camilla had absolutely no idea how to use them in an exorcism, let alone a destruction ritual aimed at demonic forces. She dug around a little into the velvet just in case Claire had sent a manual of sorts, coming up unsurprisingly bare. Flexing her hands against the porcelain of the counter, Camilla stared at the two objects, working to create some kind of plan for the ritual. The stone would be ground into sand and spread over the glyphs, and the nails… well, she would just have to improvise somehow.

A knock sounded at her door, pulling her from her mental walkthrough of the ritual she would perform. Padding over, Camilla opened the door and found Clint leaning against the jamb, eyes bright despite the early hour.

"Feel like breakfast?" He asked, moving forward into her room without invitation.

Camilla backed away to keep the distance between them, the words she'd practiced in her head dying in her throat. Swallowing, she tried several times to start a conversation that began with 'about last night' and concluded with 'it's for the best', but ended out making inarticulate sounds that were vaguely idiotic. Clint took one look at her attempts and smiled in a way that made Camilla immediately sense danger. Before she could blink he was crowding her against the door and pushing into her space determinedly.

"Now don't go getting in your own way," he intoned lowly, eyes focused intently on her mouth. The ensuing kiss was a simple press of skin and heat, a reminder that Camilla had become very much starved for human contact over the years. She had forgotten what it was like to simply be next to someone without thinking that they might slip a knife between her ribs. She had also forgotten how fantastic it felt to have a man hold her still while he touched his tongue to hers. Fingers grasping at the collar of his pullover, Camilla leaned into the embrace as she learned the shape and taste of his lips.

Clint gripped the nape of her neck, guiding her back and away so that the kiss ended in a slow separation of flesh. He held her there for a moment as if contemplating how thoroughly he had succeeded in stopping the denials and self-doubt whirling around in her brain. Then, he dipped back down and tried a different approach. Instead of a soft, exploratory kiss, Clint caught her in a way that rocked her back into the firm support of the door. He mouthed along the line of her jaw, scraping his teeth over her nerves until she gasped with surprise. Camilla squeezed her eyes shut and felt her body go lax even as her focus grew taut with expectation. Her hands remained knotted in place, her head tipping back to rest against the door at her back.

Laying sharp, short kisses along the length of her collarbone, Clint grasped the zipper of her sweater and pulled downwards, pushing the material from her shoulder to pool on the floor at her feet. He ghosted his hands along her forearms, using them as leverage to draw her from the door.

"Breakfast," he murmured while she was catching her breath. "We're going out for breakfast."

Camilla allowed herself to be led out of the room into the hall, halfway to the living room before she realized how bare her arms were. Even as she tried to slow the pace of Clint's stride, he was smirking at her and wrapping his arm around her waist to haul her along.

"Come on, I'm starving," He laughed, "There's this little diner Darcy goes to a lot and she says the waffles there are, and I'm quoting here, 'orgasmic'." Camilla shook her head, knowing that Darcy's food taste was just about as all-inclusive as any other person she had ever met. But, she didn't have the heart to comment that diner food generally wasn't five star quality when Clint looked so very excited to make the trip. He pulled her by the hand through the garage to a sleek black sedan, the engine stirring to life even before they made it to the doors. Tucked into the passenger's side, Camilla marveled at the understated but definitely advanced dashboard and amenities.

The car was shifted into gear and Clint took them out of the garage onto a private exit lane towards the highway. His driving was much like his fighting, quick, precise, and full of brute power. There was no easing into traffic, just the hard press of the pedal towards the floorboard as the car sped along the asphalt. Camilla's attention kept moving between the road racing past them and Clint's palm which had fallen to rest casually upon her knee. The warm touch was foreign and distracting, pleasant in a new and not unwelcome way.

As they swung into the diner's parking lot, Camilla assessed the establishment with a dubious eye. From the outside, it looked greasy, paint chipping off the walls and cracked glass patched with duct tape. Clint hadn't seemed to notice the run down look of the joint having hopped out of the car and joined her near the entrance. Once more taking her hand, he tugged her along behind him towards an empty booth where he guided her into the seat first and slid in beside her. A waitress brought them two menus and took their drink orders, leaving them to make a decision.

Camilla skimmed the list of options, surreptitiously enjoying the feeling of Clint's thigh settled so closely to her own. He didn't seem to have physical boundaries, giving his touch freely when the inclination came to him. As he pointedly studied the toppings, he would brush his fingertips over her tattoos or nudge her with his shoulder, guiding her attention purposefully away from any negative thoughts that might surface. He seemed to have a bead on her tendency to over think situations and to back away when she wasn't sure. While it wasn't necessarily a bad thing that he knew her so well, Camilla barely had the capacity to pick out an egg sandwich with hash browns because he kept causing her brain to stutter every couple of seconds—which was hell on her concentration.

After the waitress to their food order, Clint turned to her, effectively blocking out her view of the rest of the restaurant with the sharp expanse of his shoulders. "So, other than demon hunting, what do you do for fun?"

Camilla's head tilted a little as she thought, "My job takes up a lot of my time—actually, all of my time. But, I like the travel and seeing new places. I kind of wish I could stay a little longer than a few days in each location, but the council usually have a backlog of assignments waiting for me."

In one week she could be in three different states or as many as two different countries hunting down up to five demons from a myriad of assignments. Her down time usually consisted of acquiring new supplies and patching up any scratches or injuries she might have attained. A social life, as a result, was pretty much impossible outside the ranks of the Guardians or agents of the council.

"You don't get any time off?" he asked, brows coming together thoughtfully.

She shook her head, "Ah, not really. I had medical leave a while back after my last trip to the Other, but if I'm not on the road or working the council expects that I check in to their center of operations for a physical, blood test, and extra training."

"Screw that," Clint retorted ruefully. "You've got to relax some time, Camilla. You can't be under this kind of stress for years and not go crazy."

"And yet here I am," she replied with a smile that was tinged with sadness. "I've been doing this since I was twelve. It's the only life I know, and at least I know I'm making a difference. I save people's lives, rid them of evil, and it's that mission that keeps me going." She recited the old standby with surprising fluency, somehow not feeling as exuberant as she might have once been.

Clint hunched forward a little, eyes clear and beseeching, "I get that, I really do. But, I can see how much you want to settle down and just _be_ for a minute."

He was right, of course, though settling down and relaxing was a concept so alien to Camilla that she almost laughed outright. If she had the luxury of free time, she might lose her marbles just by the sheer fact that she wouldn't know what to do with herself. Having been so used to constant movement, to the eternal and enduring mission of fending off the evil of the world, stopping the forward momentum of her life would take considerable effort and not a little bit of self regulation to impede the paranoia from creeping into her mind.

Their plates were brought out from the kitchen and they spent several minutes simply enjoying the fare. Despite the shady look of the place, Camilla had to hand it to the chef, the food was fantastic and there wasn't a single hair or cockroach in either meal. The portions were huge, spread out over a large dinner plate, and so rich that Camilla really couldn't find it in herself to finish the meal. That, however, was no so for Clint as he worked his way through a stack of waffles, two pieces of toast, hash browns, and five cups of coffee with astonishing efficiency. Camilla watched him with something like awe as he cleared the last bit of syrup from his plate with a bit of toast.

"How are you not throwing up right now?"

Clint shrugged, "High metabolism and I had a combat session with the Widow this morning."

"I'm honestly impressed that you could put all that away," Camilla said, her face lacking in sarcasm or humor.

He smirked, "I'm a man of many talents."

"Clearly," she intoned, draining the last of her coffee and setting the cup to the side. They paid the check and headed back out to the car. In the parking lot, Camilla scanned the area compulsively, checking for anything amiss. Clint waited patiently near the driver's side of the car, his eyes following the trajectory of her gaze. He didn't mention it when they finally sat in the car, his hand returning to its position on her knee.

The house was beginning to come alive when they returned, Lucy meeting them near the door. "Kenny's ruined it."

Camilla rolled her eyes with a smile at the fiercely annoyed look in Lucy's eyes, "Of course. What did he ruin this time?"

"The sage is spoiled, absolutely wretched."

From the living room, Kenny heard and called back, "It is not ruined. Lucy is too much of a perfectionist to appreciate the margin of error."

Lucy scoffed, leading them to where Will, Kenny, and Miranda were sitting on the couches. Miranda smiled tiredly at Camilla, having clearly been mediating the argument for some time.

"Bullshit, Kenny. You got sold by trolls," Lucy asserted with a sneer.

"Did not," Kenny replied at a near whine. "Will, tell them the sage is fine."

Will shoved his hands into the pockets of his sweatshirt, "It does smell a little weird, but exorcisms aren't really my thing. I wouldn't know fresh sage from parsley."

"Neither would I," Miranda chimed in. "Claire doesn't want me doing exorcisms until I have some field experience."

"Well, you'll get that experience soon enough," Camilla replied, slumping down into an armchair. Clint leaned on the arm beside her, observing their interaction shrewdly. Camilla felt his unspoken support even though for the first time since she'd greeted him that morning he wasn't reaching out to touch her in some way.

Lucy reached into a small brown bag on the floor and pulled out a rough bundle of herbs, throwing it on the table between them. "Look at that," she said brusquely, "Absolutely worthless in an exorcism."

Camilla eyed the bundle, noting the withered leaves, the off center coloring and the faint hint of sour smell. The herbs were definitely spoiled, dying, and useless to them, which was a shame because it would mean they couldn't do the ritual until after they'd acquired more.

"That's not all," Lucy continued, reaching back into the bag, "Look at the mortar and pestle, they aren't even silver."

Confused, Camilla looked to Kenny, "I thought you had your own supplies for this."

Kenny returned her look with a pointed glare, "I left them at headquarters. What about you, shouldn't you have brought supplies? This is, in fact, your assignment."

Camilla's eyes narrowed balefully, "I do. Luckily I not only came to this mission prepared, but I also know the difference between silver and nickel plating. Seriously, this is exorcism 101, Kenny. What is wrong with you lately?"

He stood and threw his hands up, "I'm sorry I can't keep up with miss perfect guardian."

Miranda reached up to calm him, "No one is blaming you. Right guys? We're worried, though, you have been showing some lapses in judgment."

Will joined Miranda in working to keep Kenny calm, "I know you've been working pretty hard, man, but you have to keep your head. We'll get more sage and Camilla has the mortar and pestle to grind the herbs. We can still get this done and then you can take a few days at headquarters, you know, to rest."

Lips pursed, Camilla watched Kenny warily, wondering at his abrupt attitude and sudden memory loss of concepts that had been drilled into them since their days as potentials. He had always been a little hot headed, but had never lashed out at the team (despite his occasional jabs at Camilla). She thought the stress of the job had finally gotten to him after so many years fighting battle after endless battle against a foe that didn't seem to tire or die out. She knew Claire would want to see him, possibly send him through some kind of emotive therapy to calm his rising frustrations, but she also knew that they would have to power through until the mission was over before that could happen.

"Okay," Camilla intoned. "It looks like we're going to need more sage—I don't have any fresh enough to use on a demon as powerful as Astar. Is there anything else we would need? I only want to go to the troll market once."

Just then Tony strolled in wearing a grease-stained t-shirt and dark pants, looking sleep deprived and half jolted on caffeine. He observed the group, eyes flicking down to the coffee table, spotting the sage.

"You guys going to have a party without me?"

Clint chuckled beside Camilla, "It's not weed, Tony, its sage."

"Sure it is," Tony retorted, rolling his eyes dramatically and turning towards the back hall. "Just exhale through a paper towel roll stuffed with dryer sheets, will ya? Pepper doesn't like the smell."

Camilla watched him go with half a smile and a shake of her head before returning her attention to the group. "So, back to my question."

Miranda raised a tentative hand, "Shouldn't we use an accelerant?"

"Might be a good idea," Lucy murmured, tossing her dark hair behind her and pulling it into a loose bun. "What do you think, Will?"

Will shrugged, fiddling with the drawstring on his hood, "Like I said, not really my area of expertise. I think we'll need something sacred in the room."

"We've got the nails," Camilla offered, with a hopeful glance to Lucy who looked contemplative.

"I think we'll need a grounding agent—quartz at the four corners just to be safe." Lucy glanced around for confirmation from each Guardian, receiving it even though some confirmations were given reluctantly. "Okay, Camilla, Kenny and I will go to the troll market. Miranda, you and Will find a room to set up the calling circle and get as much of it completed as you can until we get back with the rest of the supplies."

Will frowned, "You know sacred quartz is… hell to get a hold of and the market may not be willing to sell so easily."

Lucy sighed, "We will do what we can."

"Within reason," Camilla added. "There's no use being taken advantage of unless we're in dire straits."

With nothing left to discuss, the team broke to prepare for their respective roles, Camilla heading back to her room to grab the bundle of rolled bills she kept in the lining of her duffel. It was more than enough to purchase the necessary items and probably a few more things that might catch her eye while they browsed the market. She knew herself well enough to know that if she found something interesting and strange, she wouldn't be able to stop herself from purchasing said item and carting it to be stored back at her office.

As she entered her room, something in her brain fired off in a signal that something wasn't quite right. Nothing seemed to have been touched, but there was a stale movement in the air that reeked of alien intrusion. Feeling the start of adrenaline, Camilla raced to the bathroom and flicked on the light, shocked to find that while the stone remained where she had left it, the box was completely missing. Stupidly, she checked beneath the sink and between the cabinets and the toilet to see if it had fallen anywhere, running her hands nervously through her hair. It hadn't fallen and there was no moment where her stomach returned from its trip deep into the pit of her abdomen. She was well and truly fucked right then, having lost one of the most sacred items in the history of man.

Turning to run out of the bathroom, Camilla ran straight into Clint, bumping her nose in the process. She rubbed at it, biting out, "How do you just appear out of nowhere?"

"Skills," he replied without hesitation. Then, having noticed her expression, continued with, "What happened?"

Camilla huffed out a breath, "The nails are gone. Disappeared. Stolen, probably."

Clint eyed the countertop, pushing into the room a little so that they were both standing in the doorway. "Any ideas?"

She shook her head, "Could have been anyone in the house."

"Jarvis?" Clint called out, "Anyone enter this room while Camilla and I were gone?"

The AI clicked once, saying, "I have no record of anyone but Ms. Paige and yourself in this room today."

Eyes widening, Camilla whispered a name in resignation, "Astar. It had to be him. With the amount of energy flowing through this house and the drama from last night, he had more than enough power to materialize here and grab the box." The only explanation that made sense, Astar stealing the box should have been predicted but Camilla had stupidly thought the house safe with the protection spells written by Darcy as a potential Guardian.

"Where would he have taken it?" Clint asked, his gaze intense and unyielding.

Camilla shook her head, exasperated, "I don't know where he hides when he's not possessing someone. Hell, maybe."

Scratching at the back of his head, the corner of Clint's mouth lifted, "I don't suppose you know how to get there."

She returned his small smile, "I know how to get there, it's the getting back part that's the problem."

"Seems like a pretty big problem," he hummed, something warm moving behind his eyes.

Camilla shrugged, "We'll figure it out, we always do." She glanced back at the sink, as if by chance the box would return to its rightful place. It was still gone and she wondered just how to explain to Claire that she had lost it. Crossing her arms, Camilla leaned against the doorframe and returned her attention to Clint. He looked calm, composed, focused, and intent. The set of his jaw was not unlike the time she'd seen it seconds before submerging herself in the pool. It spoke volumes of silent contemplation, hinting at an unyielding stubborn streak.

She pursed her lips, "Looks like we'll need something sacred at the market, too. Lucy is going to love that." The dark-haired girl drove hard bargains backed by a short-fused temper. Her temperament made her ill suited for negotiations, but talented when dealing with the market sellers.

"Is she always that…?" Clint gestured vaguely.

Camilla smiled, "Almost always. Lucy's mellowed out in the last few years. When we were teenagers she took a slice out of one of the trainers for commenting on her bright yellow sneakers—not very stealthy material."

Nodding in understanding, Clint mirrored her position against the opposite jamb, legs stepping out to cage her from knees to ankles. "When are we leaving?"

"We?" Camilla echoed, surprised.

Brow raised, he continued, "If Kenny is going, I'm going. I want to keep an eye on him."  
Camilla looked at him for a beat, trying hard to stem the tide of 'I can take care of myself, thank you very much' as it rumbled irritably in her gut. She told herself that he was worried, that he was just looking out for her, that he was being a good friend. It was a courtesy Camilla was seldom offered and part of her was eager to acquiesce.

Still, respect and polite demurral prevailed, "You don't have to do that. Surely you have better things—more important things—to be doing."

He shrugged in a loose movement that Camilla thought might be vaguely calculated. "I'm assigned to you until you leave."

Both brows rising to nearly her hairline, Camilla did her best to speak levelly, "I didn't realize I was an assignment." There was no concealing the annoyance in her expression even though she had managed to pull the irritation from her tone. She could tell that her comment had rung true enough with Clint to let him know that she was offended by the thought of having some kind of handler in the building despite the fact that she was a guest here and that the team knew very little about her. He reached forward with both hands and pulled her by the elbows so that they were standing once more eye to eye. Camilla showed a little resistance, leaning away so that she could crane her neck and jut out her chin in almost childlike defiance.

"It was an assignment I chose," he explained, his eyes entreating. "No one is forcing me to be here. If I wanted, I could observe you just as well from a distance. In fact, Coulson might have gotten a more thorough report that way, but I wanted to talk with you and see what kind of woman fights the devil."

"A devil," Camilla corrected softly. "_The_ devil isn't allowed in the human plane."

"Semantics, Camilla," he said in sing-song. "Besides, how else was I going to find out what you were hiding under that sweater."

It took some effort to hide her blush. "Leave it to you to use the opportunity for a pick up line," Camilla commented dryly. "Okay, so you've seen the tats. Are you curious about anything else, or was that it?"

Her tone had taken on that acerbic edge that had tainted so many speeches in her youth. She began to feel as she had after just completing her training, exposed and raw to the slightest touch. Unsure of where she stood, Camilla resorted to an old, tried, and true habit of a sharp tongue and vicious attitude. Some part of her was calling out, letting her know just how stupid she was being because Clint was like everyone else, inquisitive after having been in the dark about Guardians' work for so long. He wasn't to blame for the hurts of her life nor did she have the right to punish him for wanting to have a normal conversation.

Clint, amazingly enough, took her lashing out in stride, letting it roll off his shoulders like so much water. He hauled her close instead of pushing her away like Camilla thought he might do, hands gripping low on her back to steady her body against him. Camilla instinctively rose to her toes and rested her palms on his chest in order to keep her balance, muscles stiffening in the shock of the movement.

He nosed her cheek, voice low and rasping, "What did we discuss this morning about not getting in your own way? Do we need to have that discussion again?"

Unable to respond, Camilla simply nodded, hands contracting with the sensation of his breath fanning out over the sensitive skin of her neck. She would burn to death, she was sure, with the heat that seemed to emanate as a furnace from his body and through their clothes to sear into her nerves. His build was no slight thing, hard packed muscle banded around limbs that were quick and limber. Clint was an athlete of the most professional kind, dedicated to maintaining his skills through rigorous training and it showed in how effortlessly he could maneuver and manipulate those around him physically. Camilla would need to resort to her own internal power in order to subdue him, something that was as comforting as it was intimidating.

Seeming unhappy with her mute demeanor, Clint squeezed her gently in a quick movement that was meant to catch her attention. "Is that a yes that you understand the discussion we had or a yes that we need to have the talk again?" He leaned down and bit gently at the lobe of her ear, "Because I'm willing to debrief you, if necessary."

Trying hard not to think about what he meant by 'debrief', Camilla swallowed and ducked her head a little. It was all the submission she could muster with the strange twist of something exhilaratingly new in her belly. It warmed her, simultaneously setting her teeth on edge while her brain tried to catch up and work out what she was expected to do. The tension in her body seemed strung tight like the bow Clint so often carried and she contemplated the thought that this was what it was like before he set an arrow to fly—a kind of stretch before the release.

Inhaling, Camilla took in the smell of him, her eyes closing to identify, catalogue, and memorize the scent. He must have showered after the session with Natasha that morning because he smelled like clean, crisp soap. Beneath that were undertones of sandalwood and something earthy that made Camilla think of grass in the heat of summer. She wanted to rub her nose in the collar of his shirt just to keep the scent with her after they'd parted, but she didn't dare move for fear of ending the embrace. There was something very secure about Clint's arms around her, his body caging her and blotting out her vision so that there was nothing but him in her eyes. Camilla was tempted to stay there locked away forever so that she wouldn't have to go out into the world of the demonic again. It was so incredibly appealing, but unrealistic in a way that snapped her back to reality.

Canting back a little, Camilla exhaled and gave Clint a smile that she hoped conveyed her gratitude for the support he continually offered her. He returned the expression, one hand touching the skin beneath her chin as he leaned down to drop a kiss on her lips. The sensation rolled over her in firm, pleasant waves and she felt her mouth widen a little. Clint took that moment to move aggressively into her space so that they were touching from chest to knee, his kiss solidifying into something deeper. She gasped when he ran his teeth along the edge of her lip, his tongue slipping inside to run lightly along her own. Arching into him, Camilla tentatively carded her hands into his hair and held him still while she moved from passive to active participant in the kiss, a little moan running past her vocal cords in appreciation.

For several moments, the only sounds in the room were the sighing breaths between kisses and the rustling of movement. Camilla relished the direct guidance of Clint's body and mouth, he told her exactly where he wanted her, leaving no room for doubt. It allowed Camilla to be sure of her actions, to enjoy the embrace without the niggling fears and doubts that so often plagued her. So engrossed was she in the feelings coursing through her body that she didn't notice Clint pushing up the hem of her shirt until he brushed against the scar on her hip.

Hissing, Camilla pushed back and away so hard that her head knocked against the doorjamb. She winced, looking up at Clint apologetically and catching his gaze pointedly staring at Astar's mark. Self-consciously, she tugged her shirt down and pursed her lips, shaking her head at the ruined moment. When Clint reached for her again, Camilla rolled away a little, stepping away into the bedroom to put space between them.

From behind her, he called out, "Want to tell me what that was all about?"

Camilla huffed out a frustrated breath, knowing that he would find out one way or another, whether by coaxing her or by asking around until he got to Darcy. "Astar likes to mark those he considers his property."

Head tilting to the side, he said, "Darcy has one like that."  
Humming in affirmation, Camilla turned to face him and placed her hands on her hips, "Its part of the reason I'm working so hard to get this ritual completed. If we can't destroy him, Darcy will live in fear of the demon for the rest of her life." Her voice dropped to a near whisper, "That's no way to live."

Risking her turning from him again, Clint approached slowly and grasped her shoulders in reassurance. "You'll get it done."

"Yeah," Camilla replied trying hard to bolster her confidence. "I have to."

Someone came knocking on her door, the sharp rapping disturbing the relative peace of the space. Camilla answered it only to find Lucy standing in front of her, expectantly.  
"We're ready to go when you are."

Camilla smiled a very small smile, "Okay, let me get my keys."

Lucy followed her in, eyeing Clint carefully, "Kenny is going to show us where he bought the sage. Maybe they'll give us a refund."

"Fat chance," Camilla scoffed. "Also, Astar may have stolen the box with the nails."

Lucy went very still, her ever widening eyes the only movement for several long seconds. "Fuck," she breathed. "Anything else you want to throw at us while you're at it?"

Camilla shrugged, "I didn't know he could make it past the protection spells with enough power to materialize. It looks like the potentials he harvested are seriously boosting his power."

"No shit," Lucy replied, incredulous. "I guess we're getting a sacred object while we're there." She bounced on her toes, her bright blue sneakers squeaking a little on the carpet.

The group met up with Kenny in the living room and piled into her rental, still parked discreetly in the driveway. Lucy took the passenger's seat, leaving Kenny and Clint to sit sullenly together in the backseat. Camilla kept half her attention on the road and half on the pair behind her in case a fight broke out. The market could be accessed through any gateway with the right glyph and power source, but they would need to find a place away from the public so that they didn't draw attention.

Camilla ended out driving into large tree covered park that looked rather empty in the cooling weather. Putting the car in park, she cut the engine and performed her usual scan of the surroundings. Nearby there was a pair of trees whose branches reached towards each other to form an arch of twigs and limbs. They could use that as an entrance point to the market. Climbing from the car and making their way to the arch was a silent event, though the gravel ground beneath their feet as they walked. Lucy spared no time in leaning down, pulling a pocket knife from her jacket and pressing the tip to her thumb. After allowing the blood to bead on her skin, she pressed the digit to the ground and drew the simple opening glyph to the market.

The air swirled and suddenly they were standing in the causeway of the troll market between stall selling various magical wares. Smelling of the earth set afire, the whole place moved in seething activity that promoted the economy of the supernatural world. Camilla craned her neck to get a feel for the people around them, spying a few of the more reputable dealers set up down the alley. Glancing at Kenny, she motioned for him to lead the way to where he'd bought the sage. They would start there and then search for the things they needed.

With an almost hop to his step, Kenny sauntered down the ranks of the market stalls, seemingly sure of where he was going. Lucy and Camilla followed without hesitation and Clint brought up the rear of the group, cool eyes taking in the scene with practiced ease. Kenny walked them around several corners, ducking into a darkly lit booth so suddenly that Camilla nearly ran into Lucy when she skidded to a stop. She patted Lucy on the shoulder when the younger girl muttered irritably; glancing back to make sure Clint was still there. He had turned to face the crowd, his back to a large pillar, eyes still searching for potential danger. Sensing her gaze, he turned to face Camilla, stepping in behind her when she entered the stall.

Kenny sat in from of a half moon table, four dealers on one side looking deceptively content to see so many visitors at one time. Camilla eyed them for a moment, looking for signs of demonic influence and finding none. The dealers weren't possessed, just shady, and _that_ she could deal with just fine at the present moment. They each took their seats across from the vendors and it was Lucy who took the lead.

"I understand that you sold my colleague, here, some spoiled sage. We would like a replacement." Lucy hefted the offending herbs onto the table between them as evidence.

Though they were all rotund, the largest of the group responded to Lucy's assertion, "He knew what he was buying." He squinted at them in turn, tongue flicking out in contemplation over their seemingly mismatched group.

"Yes, but did you know who you were selling to? Did you know what the sage was for?"

The vendor sighed dramatically, "That is not our business."

"Maybe not," Lucy conceded carefully, "But selling spoiled product is bound to get you some bad press in the market."

There was a beat of silence long enough to spike the tension in the room and one of the vendors shifted uncomfortably. Camilla watched Lucy's eyes narrow and home in on the weakest link in the group. She very nearly smiled. The reputation of the vendors was guarded like precious gold because word spread far and fast in the supernatural community. As with Oliver's nightclub, if the council denounced a vendor as being unfair or dealing poorly, the stall could be blacklisted from the market altogether.

"Can you imagine what it would be like when the customers around the community begin to hear what deceptive vendors are selling," she glanced around, "at Barbles and Mot's? It would be a scandal."

The ringleader scoffed, "Even if you were to spread that vicious lie, its only one sale."

Lucy sneered, "I can be very convincing."

The vendor thought for a moment, weighing his options, "Fine, we'll replace the sage. It is a small matter."

"Thank you." Lucy held her hand out for the bushel of herbs, nodding to the group as she stood. One by one they filed back out into the busy street. Once they were far enough away, Lucy turned, shoving the herbs into a bag she unfolded from her pocket.

"So, quartz and a sacred object. Ideas?"

Camilla ran her eyes down the length of the street, "Unger always has good stuff. We could start there."

Kenny rolled his eyes, "His prices are outrageous and you know it."

She shrugged, "Sometimes it's worth it, if you find the right item."

Lucy turned a slow circle, "Wentworth might be a good start, but she's out of town. I think her cousin is running the place while she's gathering research on her new book."

Camilla nodded, "I heard about that—something to do with rare animal magic." She breathed deeply, "Wentworth's it is, then. I think I saw the stall over there somewhere."

The Wentworth stall was open air and served all customers, but the rare items were always kept in the back and required a little bartering and convincing to acquire. Camilla hadn't bought from them very often, finding Unger's more suited to her liking (she really didn't have the stomach for intestines hanging around). Lucy, however, went where the more powerful magic lay, and that was in earth magic and the use of animal sacrifice—unsanitary at the very least, gross and potentially immoral at worst. Camilla couldn't fault Lucy, however, knowing that sometimes the fastest way was the only way in their line of work, with lives to save and demons to defeat. Still, she veered away from it whenever she could.

They spent a few moments browsing the shelves before Camilla was approached by a pair of females who hesitated a moment before speaking. Dark haired and pale skinned, they were very pretty individually and physically stunning as a pair. It only took Camilla half a second to recognize the succubae for what they were. Speaking in the tongue of their people, they prompted her with a lucrative deal that really shouldn't been humorous, but she laughed anyways.

Seeing her distraction, Clint ambled in behind her, "Need help?"

Camilla laughed again, "No, I think it's you who might need the help."

His expression brightened, "Really? Why?"

"They want to buy you from me," Camilla answered, gesturing to the women who looked hungrily at Clint. To his credit, he merely smiled mischievously and sent them a nod in greeting. Their smiles widened, eyes narrowing into leers as they assessed his build.

"How much are they offering?" He asked, playing along for the moment.

"Ten thousand, American dollars."

"Not a bad price. Maybe I'd be okay with being sold to these lovely ladies," He teased gently, one hand touching the small of her back, drawing her closer.

Camilla shrugged, "Suit yourself, but most of their purchases end out disemboweled."

A strange look flashed over Clint's face and the smile dropped as his pallor turned to ash. Camilla felt the amusement well up inside her as he considered the consequences of teasing such interested customers. She slipped an arm around his waist and patted his belly gently, politely turning the women down in their own tongue. They frowned and took one last longing look at Clint before turning away and exiting the booth.

"Lucky for you, I'm not in the selling mood," She murmured giving him a squeeze.

"Gee, thanks," He replied wryly, no venom reaching his voice.

Giving him one more affectionate pat, Camilla moved away to address the cousin Wentworth as he approached from the back of the stall. Tall, lanky, and reasonably attractive, he gave them each a welcoming smile.

"My name is Glen, how can I help you?"

It was Kenny who piped up first, "We're looking for quartz, and potentially a sacred object."

"My, my," Glen replied, "So direct. I like that. If you'll follow me to the back room, we can discuss your needs."

The back room was more of a tent filled to the brim with various boxes and jars. Camilla had to ease around a teetering pile of something that, quite frankly, she didn't recognize as remotely animal, material, or mineral in order to take one of the proffered seats at a long rectangular table. Glenn sat opposite her, Lucy on her left and Kenny on her right. Clint remained standing behind her, a force for her security despite his quiet attitude.

"I can get you the quartz in two weeks, but I may have the sacred object you are seeking here for sale today," Glen announced, his posture very casual. Camilla looked at her comrades, noting the narrowing of Lucy's eyes as she geared up for the battle. With any luck, Glen would recognize the unyielding countenance of Lucy's negotiation skills and let the woman have her way. Otherwise, they'd be there all damn day.

"We'll start with the sacred object," Lucy began. "Show us what you have."

Glen nodded accommodatingly and reached behind him to pull a large metal container from a shelf of wooden chests. He opened the box with a flourish and presented several small objects, lining them up carefully. Camilla recognized only one, a Cajun voodoo serpent carved from what looked like bone. It would be minimally effective in their ritual as Astar didn't answer to the Cajun gods and would probably incinerate it with a baleful look. The other objects looked half cracked and abused, hardly in the condition to take on a high level demon.

She touched the table, her fingertips brushing forward in a gesture of dismissal, "We're looking for a sacred object of a more Christian bent, and, perhaps, in better condition."

Glen's eyes flicked down a moment, considering her request as he packed the objects into their tin and set it aside. With a clap of his hands, he brought forth another box, opening it with an indulgent smile that looked half sneering.

"Perhaps this will be more to your liking," He murmured. "A rough hewn cross blessed by the first pope."

Camilla eyed the object, "Can it be verified?"

Glen blinked a moment at her, "Of course, there is no true verification for something this old."

"We'll need something we can be sure is sacred." Camilla cut his explanations off, waving away the cross with a shrug. Lucy smirked beside her and Kenny folded his hands in a gesture she had learned was anxious. They might know the Wentworth stall, but if the cousin had something powerful enough hidden back here, he could possibly injure them if he felt slighted. Camilla didn't want to insult Glen, but they needed something very particular in order to perform the ritual and they couldn't be too strict in their requirements.

Shutting the box with a small huff, Glen set it aside with the metal box of small sacred object and dug around in the one of the chests sitting behind him. Finally, he produced a bundle of silk which he unwrapped carefully with nimble fingers. Camilla leaned forward to catch sight of a rounded ball of crystal the reflected the light strangely.

"An orb from the spear of destiny. If you use it right, it will channel the power of God." Glen's explanation was given with such surety that Camilla thought he might be lying. She turned her attention to Lucy, who was eyeing the piece critically. Leaning back, Camilla removed herself unspeaking from the negotiation, giving Lucy the go-ahead to begin pricing the object.

"How much?" Lucy prompted evenly.

Glen rubbed his chin, giving the façade of thinking about the question. "I think, twenty five thousand would be sufficient."

"Absolutely not," Lucy retorted with a snort. "Ten."

He gasped, "I believe I'm affronted. Seventeen."

"Twelve-five," Lucy replied without skipping a beat.

With a roll of his eyes, Glen countered, "Fifteen."

"Thirteen, and not a penny more. We have a piece waiting at Unger's if you're not willing to cooperate." It was a ballsy move, a bluff of the most devious sort. But, Camilla was impressed with how unblinkingly Lucy delivered the line, her jaw set so hard she could almost hear her teeth grind. Glen took a moment to consider the possibility of losing their business completely, but she could see that he would cave in the twitching of one eyelid. Camilla could barely hide the smile.

"Fine," Glen answered. "Cash, up front."

Reaching into the pocket of her sweater, Camilla palmed the roll of money and discreetly flicked through until she had the proper amount. Sliding the bills halfway across the table, she waited for Glen to relinquish the orb before letting her fingers lift from the pile.

Glen counted the payment and then shoved it into the pocket of his linen pants. "Now, about the quartz."

"We'll need it faster than two weeks, Glen." Kenny finally found his voice, "The routes run every three days on this side of the country."

Glen shrugged, "I may not have access to those routes."

Lucy chuckled, "Then, maybe we should go elsewhere."

Camilla watched Glen work to control the expression on his face with so much difficulty that his general appearance was that of constipation. She had to admit that it was a step up from the almost slimy courtesy he had generally been showing since they'd walked in. Lucy crossed her arms and sent Glen a hard look meant to spur the man into action. He tapped his hands on the table, rolling his tongue around in his mouth while he once more considered his options.

"I might be able to get the stones to you in five days, but that is the fastest I can have them prepared and blessed."

Lucy glanced to Kenny, then to Camilla, seeming to receive validation from both, "And your price…?"

Glen smiled in such a way that Camilla felt her stomach drop, stirring up a sour taste at the back of her throat. His eyes flicked to her face and down the length of her body left exposed above the rim of the table.

"I want that one," he pointed to Camilla, "For twenty four hours."

Surprise was not the emotion Camilla was feeling—bartering human services was not uncommon at the troll market. What she was feeling was pity because he obviously did not know what kind of people with which he was making a deal. In a movement that seemed to be cued, all three of the Guardians at the table pulled at the sleeves of their jackets, forearms resting on the table in front of them. Glen's eyes widened exponentially, his jaw unhinging for the barest of moments before he was leaning away and offering his apologies.

Camilla spoke lowly, evenly, and with as much threat in her tone as she could muster, "You don't know us, but you know who we represent. That is the only fact that is saving your hide right now. I want you to think carefully about your asking price, and then I want you to answer my friend's question one more time."

Swallowing, Glen muttered, "Five thousand for the stones, another two for the express rate."

"Fine," Camilla replied, "We will return in five days. And, Glen, if those stones aren't here when we get back, you'll be hearing from the council." It was an empty threat as the council would not take hearings until their session was dismissed, but rumors of the council's swift and vicious reaction to any perceived attacks on their Guardians would be enough to light a fire under him, at least until they could get the quartz. She hoped that he didn't grow some ill conceived bravado in the meantime, but planned to be well armed just in case.

They exited the booth as a unit, following the alleys back to their entrance point easily. As they once more piled into the car, Camilla turned over the engine and shifted to look at the group, "You guys hungry?"

**Just as a teaser, you'll get to meet Astar in chapter 9. **


	8. Chapter 8

**Please enjoy, dear readers!**

Camilla stood beside Darcy chopping onions, both trying hard to conceal their sniffling noses. Upon her return from the market, Miranda had taken the sage and orb to the back and arranged for it to be placed in a protected capsule while Kenny had been called to the side by Agent Coulson. Coulson looked very nearly fierce when he addressed Camilla's fellow Guardian, but she dismissed the feeling of pity, knowing the Kenny had been playing both sides and was now reaping the benefits. Will, Lucy, and Darcy had gathered and followed her into the kitchen with Clint, knowing a meal wasn't far behind.

She put them to work chopping, dicing, and frying up as much food as possible to feed the fourteen potential diners for the late lunch. Darcy was happy to be useful, enthusiastically moving through the stack of vegetables Camilla laid before her, throwing the tiny mounds into the rarely used porcelain bowls from the cupboards. While they worked, she characteristically asked the questions Camilla was sure had been brewing in her mind for hours.

"Do you guys, like, live in a compound or something?"

Lucy chuckled, "I think we'd kill each other, right Will?"

Will smiled and shook his head, "Probably. We tend to congregate at the headquarters—we've got rooms there set up for us."

Darcy reached for a potato, "Kind of like here."

He shrugged, "A little bit."

Camilla darted around Darcy to check the boiling pots on the stove being guarded by Clint, who stirred them occasionally. She sprinkled seasoning into the mixture and turned down the heat to a simmer, grabbing a wooden spoon from the pile and dipping it into a tomato sauce. Bringing it to her mouth, she tasted the sauce, pursing her lips. It was missing something, possibly garlic. Clint watched her as was his way, lifting a brow at her focused expression. Tapping the utensil against the spoon rest, she turned and grasped the bowl of minced garlic Darcy had arranged, tossing a bit into the pot and stirring gently.

Behind her, Miranda came strolling in, waving to the group and craning her neck to see what was happening at each station. Camilla smiled at the woman, gesturing to a pile of limes and lemons that needed to be juiced.

Setting to work, Miranda said, "I gained ten pounds when I finished training because of Camilla's cooking."

Will snorted, "I gained twenty, had to step up the exercise to three hours a day just to keep up."

"Hey," Camilla called out in mock offense, "No one made you eat the food."

"Says the woman who makes it irresistible," Lucy replied with a roll of her eyes.

Darcy piped in, "You guys eat together a lot?"

Camilla shrugged, "When we're in one place—what do you guys think? Three times a year or so?"

"Sounds about right," Will replied, handing Miranda a bowl for the juiced fruit. "Try not to shoot the seeds at me."

"That was one time!" Miranda whined with a stomp of her foot. She shook the juicer at Will threateningly, her eyes narrowed but her mouth smiling.

Camilla watched this with a kind of detached glee, wondering at how anything got done when one or more of them were either goofing off or fighting viciously. She tasted the tomato sauce again, nodding in approval. They would need pounds and pounds of pasta to feed them all, but Clint was already filling a large cauldron with water at the sink and she figured they would be covered.

Darcy was looking at each in turn, and Camilla could see her chin dipping as she mentally counted their numbers. "I thought you said there were six bloodlines."

The good mood of the room dropped to an arctic chill and Camilla closed her eyes against the history filling her mind. She hadn't known the sixth Guardian personally, but she knew the story just as everyone who went through the council's training knew it. The tale was one of caution from the council, whispered in the halls and investigated by only the very brave.

Will set down his knife after a moment, "We don't really talk about it."

Lucy dropped her eyes to the apples she was peeling and Miranda looked close to bolting from the room. Camilla sighed and approached the island, setting her hands upon the counter as she considered her answer.

"Her name is August," she said lowly. "I was out of the country when it happened, but there was a crisis of some kind, Claire wouldn't say what, and August solved it. She saved the world before she'd even completed her training, but when she came out on the other side of the apocalypse…she didn't want the marks."

Miranda pressed a lemon to the juice, twisting it as she added, "Supposedly August was powerful, far too powerful to be simply let go. The council thought she might be a liability."

"Which doesn't make sense," Will asserted in a harsh voice, his hands working fiercely at the ground meat. "Taking the marks is a choice, not a demand."

Lucy dropped the peeled apple into a bowl, grasping the next one without skipping a beat, "The council didn't see it that way."

Camilla glanced at Darcy, shrugging in helplessness, "She was imprisoned, no one knows where. Claire won't talk about it—I read on one of the memorandums that she'd been working in defense of August and lost."

Darcy shifted on her feet, "I'm sorry, I didn't know."

Shrugging, Camilla replied, "It's a truth we all live with, knowing that our team is incomplete and suffering for it."

Checking the oven, Camilla pulled out a tray of pork chops and added the cherries and the apples Lucy had sliced to the mixture, topping the chops and returning the pan to the oven. She turned and spotted Natasha sitting on one of the stools near the island, having silently joined the group, her nimble hands already picking out ingredients that needed to be added for a stir fry. Camilla wondered at how she would know what they were cooking, but shoved that question to the side, leaving it as one of the great mysteries of the universe.

Soon enough, the food was being plated and Camilla had Jarvis ring the metaphorical dinner bell throughout the house. The dining room would be too small for the large company, so she arranged to have all of the options set out on Tony's liquor bar, buffet style. As the smells wafted and mixed into something Camilla may have identified as homey, more and more people shuffled in to fill their stomachs. She found herself sitting between Clint and Jane, Darcy hanging off the edge of the couch chatting with Dr. Banner from her usual spot on the lap of Loki. Lucy sat on the floor nearby and Will shared an armchair with Miranda. Tony sprawled in view of the TV, which had been turned on to a local football game. He hooted occasionally, explaining his excitement to Thor, who watched avidly while working his way through five plates of pasta.

Natasha perched next to Tony, pointing out flaws in the defenses of his team and calling plays well in advance. Somewhere in the laughter, Cap had arrived and was sitting politely off to the side, his attention alternating between his plate and the game. Kenny showed up late, looking thoroughly chastised. Camilla refused to allow herself to feel guilt for driving home the fact that he was working with both Shield and the Guardians. Instead, she focused on speaking with Jane about her work, which was way above Camilla's head. She could tell that the hyper intelligent Dr. Foster appreciated her interest nonetheless, even if Camilla failed to comprehend. Between five syllable words and star systems that she vaguely recognized, Camilla found herself nodding and squinting as Jane talked. Ten minutes in, nothing made sense but she felt like she was learning something for the first time since training.

Eventually, the main courses were devoured and Camilla felt the need to check on the dessert. There was always dessert, that was half the point of eating such a large feast. It gave the meal a sense of anticipation that Camilla thought made the whole affair much more pleasurable. The kitchen was near to bursting with the smell of cinnamon and sweet caramel. Camilla dipped down and pulled out the little ramekins of apple pies, inhaling their delectable scent as she stood. Setting them aside, she moved over to the refrigerator and pulled out the coup de gras, a large container of heavy whipping cream. While the pies cooled, she mixed air into the cream until the peaks stiffened into tiny mountains of fluff. Unable to resist, she dipped a spoon into the mallow and tasted it, smiling at the sweetness.

Issuing each tiny pie a dollop, Camilla piled them onto a tray and carried them out to the living room where several sets of eager eyes landed on her offering. The Cap stood first, slipping his hands beneath the tray and carrying it over to the buffet. There was no line, just a rush of people moving forward to take their own little serving and fork, most not waiting until they sat down again to take their first bite. She watched as a dozen faces lit with culinary joy, her smile unmovable even when she'd gotten her own pie and sat down in her place on the couch.

Next to her, Clint chewed enthusiastically, nudging her and making yummy sounds when he made it through the first layer to the second crispy layer of apples. Camilla glanced over to Miranda, who had practically buried her face in the ramekin to scrape the crust from the bottom. Next to her, Will was watching the woman with this incredulous look, his fork poised near his mouth.

From the floor, Lucy laughed, "I have really missed these."

"You're welcome," Camilla replied, forking another bite into her mouth.

Dr. Banner looked up from his pie, "Is there molasses in this?"

Camilla hummed in the positive, unwilling to speak around the large chunk of apple melting in her mouth. She found herself unable to finish her serving, staring at it in disappointment. Part of her wanted to stuff the rest down and damn the consequences, but a more logical part of her knew that being stuffed full would not be very conducive to her sleep patterns that night. The longer she stared, the more disappointed she became until she had to set the container on the coffee table in order to separate herself from the feeling.

Beside her, Clint (having finished his pie) stiffened and shot her a cursory glance. Camilla raised a brow in question, following his darting eyes to her abandoned pie. With a smirk, she gave a dismissive gesture and he dove down to rescue the dessert from its place, abandoned as it was on the coffee table. Camilla rolled her eyes and watched as the others finished their own servings, each sitting back into their seat with satisfaction in their expressions. A kind of companionable silence descended upon the group, the only sounds in the room being the football game still playing in the background. Camilla, too, settled deeper into the couch cushions, a tiny bit sleepy from the large meal and a large bit happy for the food and company.

Jarvis' voice broke through the serenity of the room, "Sir, you asked me to remind you of the experiment in the lab."

Tony rolled to his stomach and pushed lazily to standing, "Thanks, Jarvis. C'mon, guys, back to work."

Next to her, Dr. Foster rose unsteadily and across the way Dr. Banner leveraged his body upwards. The science team took their leave, followed by Thor, who seemed to escort Jane everywhere in such a sweet way that Camilla couldn't help but melt a little at the scene. The Cap moved silently behind them, a small wave to the group his only goodbye. Camilla couldn't quite get a bead on him as he seemed to only show up when there was food, preferring to keep to himself when the rest of the team was so social. Knowing that she may never have the time to satisfy her curiosity, Camilla leaned forward and grabbed the empty pie bowls and stood, unprepared for the oncoming vision.

Camilla was standing in the living room near the large windows separating the main floor from the balconied pool area. A storm was rolling in across the city and she was looking back at the anxious faces of the Avengers and Guardians. From her periphery, she caught movement, and then the glass behind her cracked and shattered inwards. Flying forward onto her stomach, Camilla crawled away, turning her shoulders to catch sight of Astar's face moving up and over the balcony, his body inching up over the railing. Cold fear sprang up all over her body, and she felt her tattoos sear in preparation for the oncoming battle.

Her vision cleared and Camilla came back to consciousness staring up at the ceiling of the living room, her body having landed between the coffee table and the couch. Reaching up, Camilla grabbed the edge of the table and yanked hard so that she could sit up. All around, eyes were following her movements, none closer than Clint's whose expression was cautious.

Miranda inched down off the armchair and pressed over the edge of the coffee table, "What did you see?"

Camilla rubbed the bridge of her nose, "Turn on the weather, will ya?"

Miranda tried, she really did, to do Camilla's bidding, but the remote was so strangely formed with all these extraneous buttons that she ended out screwing with the cable and sending the TV into fits. As it turned out, Natasha was the one who took the remote gently from Miranda, flicking a few buttons until the TV showed the weather report. Camilla watched it carefully, noting the oncoming storm front and when it would arrive, sometime in the night.

Lucy prompted her, "What did you see?"

Before Camilla could answer, Darcy was shooting to standing, "Oh my _god,_ you're the oracle."

"That would be me," Camilla replied drolly, feeling a headache coming on. She shoved back onto the couch cushions, aware of Clint remaining nearby, his eyes scanning her body for signs of her internal thoughts. She dropped her head in her hands and sighed, considering how much of her vision would be coming to pass that night and whether or not it would be stoppable. If Astar decided to materialize, it would be a rough fight, for sure, but with several hours notice, they might be able to stave off most of the demonic tide.

"Astar's on his way, he'll show up tonight."

Will groaned, "We're not nearly ready for this."

"He's right," Miranda joined in, "We don't have the stones to complete the ritual."

Camilla sat back into the cushions, "He knows where we are, or will here shortly. We'll have to coat the exterior and interior entrances with a witch's brew and hope the latent power is enough to keep him fended off for five days."

Lucy's eyes lit up with this kind of delight that Camilla understood—she would be doing what she did best, working with natural magic. Camilla was sure that Lucy already had most of the needed ingredients to get the brew going and they would just have to take charge of the kitchen once more in order to make the gallons upon gallons of the stuff they would need.

Natasha, who had always been amazingly accepting and adaptable with the massively strange things going on around Camilla, stood carefully. "What do we do if he gets inside?"

Head rising, Camilla shrugged, "I suppose we Guardians will have to combine power and perform an emergency exorcism. But, really, the brew should at least keep him outside."

Darcy raised a tentative hand, "Is it really witch's brew?" From beside her, Loki smiled, but his eyes were just as curious.

"No," Lucy replied, "That's just what we call it. The stuff is kind of like a stew—lots of herbs and spices, a few unseemly bits, and lots of holy water. The combination of the different magical components, when mixed together correctly, will keep the bad juju away."

"Sweet," Darcy replied, "Can I help?"

Lucy smiled, "Sure."

Camilla glanced at Natasha, who was still standing with her arms crossed, her mouth pressed into a firm line. With five days until they could really nail down the exorcism and destruction, a good defense would be all they could manage in order to keep everyone safe. Camilla could tell that Natasha was a little rankled by the unclear defensive strategy. As a woman of action, the mere bolstering down of the fort would probably seem ineffective and weak. Camilla had to admit that she felt the same way, filled with this impotent frustration at how lame her reactions were to this demonic force returning to her life.

Lucy rolled up from her knees and stood, "I guess I should get on it. Darcy, you want to help me gather ingredients?"

Darcy nodded and followed Lucy out of the room towards the kitchen, Loki sauntering out after them. Camilla knew he would be somehow curious about how their magic worked in comparison with his own, he would need to know what the difference was so that he could better protect Darcy. She was grateful for his consideration and his seemingly endless quest for knowledge, knowing that he would figure it out eventually and that maybe they would be able to join forces later.

Miranda rocked a little in her crouched position, her eyes boring holes into the side of Camilla's head. "How is it going down?"

Camilla glanced at her briefly, easing her tired body to standing, noting how Clint moved with her, keeping her within arm's reach in case she should fall again. "He's going to show up on the balcony, probably will scale the side of the building somehow. Honestly, he's a demon and can pretty much get here however he likes."

Will snorted, "And that includes teleportation." He rose, "Miranda and I set up part of the calling circle this morning. I'm gonna head down there and make sure we at least have the basics ready in case we hit a crisis."

"I'll help," Miranda said and she followed him out of the room and down the hall towards the elevator.

That left Camilla standing with Clint, Natasha, and Kenny, so silent that she had to fight the need to say something just to end the noiseless tension. Lucky for her, Coulson strolled in once more, "Agents, you're needed for debriefing in conference room two."

Kenny rose from his position, looking like some beaten dog and Natasha was already moving across the room before Coulson could finish his sentence. Clint gave her a once over and seemed to decide that she was okay before turning and moving with the group out of the room. Alone for the first time since that morning, Camilla took a moment to collect herself. She knew that tonight she would see Astar in the flesh for the first time in many years and that it would be no different between them. He would taunt and torment her if he was able, and rage against whatever defense she put up if he could not reach her physically. She only hoped that Lucy's personal form of magic would be strong enough to repel him until the sun rose the next morning.

With a reluctant nod, Camilla rounded the couch and headed to the kitchens to help Lucy in whatever way was possible. This kind of magical working was not her preference, nor did she succeed very often when she had to do it. But, she could offer moral support, if nothing else. Stepping into the kitchen, she found Darcy and Lucy leaning over an over-large pot of boiling _something_ that smelled rank. Covering her nose, Camilla shuffled further into the room and leaned on the island next to Loki, who seemed to find the smell distasteful as well.

Lucy stirred the pot, noticing Camilla's entrance, "We can let this simmer for about an hour and it should be ready." She placed the lid on top, leaning a hip against the counter by the stove, "It would be a lot more powerful if I had an animal to add to it."

"Ew," Darcy said, her lip curling a little.

Lucy scoffed, "Why is everyone so skittish about animal sacrifice? Its potent magic."

"Because," Camilla replied lightly, "Most people don't kill things on a regular basis."

"That's not a very good answer," Lucy retorted, tossing her dark hair.

Camilla shrugged one shoulder, "It's the only answer you'll get out of me." She glanced at Loki, who was watching with sharp eyes, his pale skin almost translucent in the light. Part of her wondered at what he thought of their magic and their spells and how they compared to his own. Did he think they were primitive? The nature of their world couldn't really be helped—physics was physics and magic often lay in the groundwork of the science. There was no changing the natural laws of the universe, even for demons such as Astar and for that she was glad. At least they knew what rules he played by and they could use them to capture and defeat him if necessary. It was the only thing that would give them a fighting chance in this tiny war between good and evil.

"So," Darcy urged meekly, "Where are we going to get an animal?"

"We can't use a gun," Lucy interjected firmly. "It will spoil the balance."

Camilla leveled an annoyed look at her fellow Guardian, "Let me just get my handy dandy bear trap from the back of my car."

From beside her, Loki chuckled, the movement seeming to brighten his whole face. "I could simply materialize an animal of your choosing—a tiger, perhaps."

"Hey," Darcy called out, "No endangered species. I'll have enough on my conscience by killing the poor thing without taking out a protected animal."

Lucy hummed in disapproval, "No offense, but your magic might interfere with our magic and throw the whole thing off. We need this stuff perfectly made, otherwise we're going to be dealing with one nasty demon problem come nightfall."

"Why do they always come out in the night?" Darcy wondered aloud.

It was an easy question, one taught at the very beginning of their training. "Because," Camilla answered with a tilt of her head, "The light forces the dark away, and all demons are made of darkness."

Lucy nodded knowingly, "We still need an animal. Preferably one killed without gun powder or other pollutants."

Camilla thought for a moment, mulling the problem over, "How big?"

"Not very," Lucy answered thoughtfully. "I'd settle for a squirrel."

The line was delivered dryly, but Camilla knew that Lucy would actually hope for a deer or something. A squirrel would absolutely be settling for the woman, who definitely wanted bigger and better when working animal magic. The only question was where the squirrel would come from and how they would trap and kill the creature in a humane, but spell-appropriate, way. Camilla thought of them out in the backyard with nets and sticks, trying to hunt down a tiny rodent by climbing trees and swatting at empty air. It was enough to bring a bright smile to her face.

"You know," Darcy said with a sly grin, "We could probably get the Hawk to shish kebab us a squirrel if Camilla asked him nicely."

"Hawk?" Camilla inquired, confused.

Loki leaned down a little from his considerable height, "Hawkeye. It is Agent Barton's codename."

"Oh," Camilla replied, her mouth and mind wrapping around the name. She thought about it for a moment, "Would an arrow work?"

The question was directed at Lucy, who shot her a contemplative glance, "Should be fine."

"Right," Camilla sighed, "I guess I'm off to convince Clint to skewer road kill for our stew—don't laugh, Lucy, it's a stew if it's got squirrel in it."

Lucy bent over a little, her hands pressing to her thighs. "Sorry, I just… this is so stupid. We came here to help you get rid of the big bad demon and all we seem to be doing is putting off the inevitable." She wiped the back of her hand across her wide mouth, "Can you imagine if Claire were here?"

Camilla _could_ imagine if Claire were in the room, giving them each a stern look and urging them to take their roles a little more seriously. She would be directing things, taking charge in a way that Camilla (despite being the oldest) could never quite manage. They would all have a game plan, an assigned part, and there would be none of this questioning of what they should do. If Claire were there, Camilla might feel just a little bit more safe knowing Astar was coming by for a chat and possibly to take a chunk out of her hide.

Shaking her head, Camilla headed off in the direction Clint had gone with agent Coulson not ten minutes previously. She padded along the hall, peeking into empty rooms in a search for the conference room/debriefing area. After searching the whole floor and coming up with zilch, Camilla made her way to the elevator and pressed the button for one floor below. This process repeated until she reached the training level where she stepped out to check on Will and Miranda, who were hunched over the north point of the calling circle.

"What's up?" She said as she approached, curious at the confused looks on their faces.

Will stood, placing his hands on his slim hips, the position only emphasizing the breadth of his shoulders in comparison to the rest of his body. Will was a fighter, their best fighter at the moment, and his physicality was more pronounced the closer they came to the appearance of Astar. He prowled now on the balls of his feet, his hands and arms tense with the building anticipation.

"Someone screwed with the north glyph," he said. "We'll have to rewrite it."

Camilla bit at her lip a little, "We are using a rather well-traveled spot in the building. Could have been an accident."

Miranda, too, took to standing, "No, this had to be intentional. See the outlying marks, there, they've been completely rearranged into…something _not_ _good._"

With a long suffering sigh, Camilla pulled at the hem of her sweater, "Who else in the building has this kind of training?"

"No one," Will replied, "At least no one should. The council isn't exactly free about giving information like this to the public."

"True story," Miranda murmured. "Could be a minion. There's no telling really."

Camilla stared at the glyph for a beat longer, "Rewrite it, and we'll just have to make sure we check it over before performing the ritual."

Turning, Camilla scanned the area, looking for other signs that the room had been infiltrated by something decidedly not human. Unsurprisingly, she found nothing amiss, even the weapons rack was fully stocked, though the bow was conspicuously missing. Completing the slow turn, she spotted a staircase moving upwards towards a railed landing, a tiny inlet carved into the wall displaying what looked like a breaker box. Unconsciously, she filed that information away for later use, returning her attention to Will and Miranda, who were dipping a small brush into acrylic paint to notate a new glyph. It was a task that they would probably have to repeat as there was no shortage of fuckery going on in the house nowadays.

Camilla stepped back inside the elevator and pressed the button for the main floor (every other button required a password). It was happenstance that when she turned her head as she left the elevator, Camilla saw Natasha and Clint keeping watch outside a closed door. Kenny was noticeably absent. Curious, she sidled over to them with a small smile.

"Tell me Kenny hasn't been shipped off to Siberia," Camilla announced teasingly.

Clint smirked, but it was Natasha who answered in a matter of fact tone, "Coulson is administering discipline."

She didn't know what prompted her to respond in that way, but the word 'kinky' was out of her mouth before she could check it. Camilla's eyes widened along with Clint's, though Natasha looked more amused than anything else.

"I don't think Kenny will think of it quite that way," Natasha replied, tossing her curls away from her face. "Coulson's more psychologically inclined."

"Doesn't mean he can't kick some serious ass when he wants," Clint retorted, adjusting his stance a little. Camilla wondered if Clint had been on the receiving end of that ass kicking once or twice, though it was probably more like he'd been watching when the fight broke out.

Curiosity growing, Camilla asked, "Why does Kenny need to be reprimanded?"

There was an uneasy look that flashed between the two agents and Camilla felt her stomach drop a little. Natasha pushed a lock of hair behind her ear, her face hardening a little in a look Camilla had dubbed her 'game face' and Camilla knew that it was bad. She shuffled her feet a little, dropping her shoulders to convey submission.

"Okay, so you can't tell me. Can you at least make sure he doesn't die—we need him to take Astar down."

Natasha's curt nod was the only answer she received; Clint merely set his jaw and averted his eyes, refusing to acknowledge any potential promises. Camilla nodded absently, staring hard at the door as if she would suddenly be able to see what was happening inside.

"How long do you think this will take?"

Clint's eyes slipped over to her and she was surprised by the clear lack of emotions in their depths. "Why?"

Camilla shrugged, "I need you for something."

She could see the spark of interest in his eyes, the little fire piercing through whatever mask he was wearing.

"Really?" He asked, his voice dropping. Again, his stance change, his shoulders canting down a little, hips squaring off with her.

Camilla allowed him to run a myriad of ideas through his head before she burst his bubble, "I need a squirrel."

"A squirrel," he echoed, brows furrowed. Beside him, Natasha hid her laugh behind a light cough.

"Yes," Camilla continued, "Lucy says she needs one for the protection brew and we can't use a gun. I need your bow skills."

His smile was wry, eyes alight with amusement, "It'll be a pleasure."

"Thank you," Camilla answered. "I'll hang out in the living room when you're ready."

As it turned out, she wouldn't actually have to wait as Coulson exited the conference room with a brisk stride. He nearly knocked her over in his haste, but Camilla pivoted a little and spun out of the way just short of impact. Kenny followed, looking, well, _bad_. His head was dipped down near his chest and his hands clenched at his sides. Camilla swallowed back her initial reaction to make sure he was alright as he had made his bed and was now lying in it. Still, she wondered if his chastisement would affect his performance later that night. With the incoming demonic force, she needed him at the top of his game—for everyone's protection.

"Come on, I'll need to get my bow," Clint urged, one hand grasping her upper arm and moving slowly downwards as he stepped away. He pulled her by the hand back to the elevator and tapped out a code for one of the base floors. Though nothing was said, the warmth of his hand curling over her fingers, the press of his thumb in the center of her palm, was enough to have Camilla biting at the inside of her cheek just to keep her expression neutral.

The doors opened to an open floor plan apartment and Camilla's brows rose as she realized this was his home, where he lived when he wasn't on missions for the government. Clint pulled her along, fingers slipping from hers as he made his way across the comfortably furnished living room to where he had stored his bow. Camilla remained in place, hands folded neatly in front of her while she tried not to stare. A person's home was a deeply personal space and she felt a little like she was intruding even though he'd brought her along willingly.

Clint caught her stiffened expression, "You okay?"

Camilla hummed in the positive, rolling her tongue along the rim of her lower lip while she tried to force herself to relax. Clint approached her, setting his bow down on a nearby side table, his gaze intensifying with every subsequent step. He moved so that he was toe to toe with her, using his height to his advantage.

"Touch me."

Camilla blinked, "What?"

When he didn't repeat his instruction, choosing to merely wait for her compliance, Camilla hesitantly placed her hands on his chest. Her touch was light, palms barely pressing into the material of his shirt, uncertain despite his very clear instructions. Clint reached up and grasped her wrists with a shake of his head. He guided her hands down over the hard plane of his stomach, separating them to shift over his sides and around to his back. Stepping closer, Clint pressed her hands to the small of his back for a moment, then lifted them to return the limbs back to their original position.

"Your turn," he breathed, pupils so wide they nearly eclipsed the iris of his eyes.

Camilla pulled her lips between her teeth for a moment, releasing them as she gingerly retraced the path he'd shown her, feeling every ridge and valley as they passed beneath her hands. The muscles of his body trembled a little in silent reaction to her touch, his own hands remaining firmly at his sides. When she'd completed the circuit, he ordered for her to begin again—and one more time, seemingly for good measure.

Leaning down, he spoke so that with every movement of his mouth, his lips brushed against hers, "You can touch me any time you like."

Camilla made every effort to keep her voice even, but her replying 'okay' came out breathy nonetheless. She felt more than saw his smirk, her eyes falling closed as he once more took the initiative to kiss her deeply. He wrapped his arms around her body, pulling her close and lifting her lightly to ease the difference between their heights. Camilla ran her hands up the length of his torso, brushing her fingertips at the base of his neck. She surprised herself with the groan that rolled up out of her throat when he flicked his tongue along the inner rim of her lip, touching the tips of her front teeth before dipping further to taste fully.

Reluctantly, as if the very action were painful, Clint pulled away, "We were going to hunt squirrel."

"Mmhmm," Camilla replied lazily, "For the road kill stew."

He shook his head lightly, "Well, I suppose we should head out the back, then."

The backyard was not exactly a yard so much as an outdoor break area for staff. It was, out of necessity for privacy, fenced in and came equipped with a sturdy picnic table. Camilla took in the well-manicured grass and the large oak tree casting shade across it. She also noted the apparent lack of squirrels in the area. Deep in the heart of the city, the tall industrial structures and sparse vegetation did not seem to be conducive to rodent wild life.

Sitting on the table, her feet resting in front of her on the bench, Camilla settled in for a long wait on their prey. Absently, she pulled her hair from her face and secured it in a tight bun high on her head, tucking the inevitable errant strands behind her ears. Despite the fact that it was still early in the evening, the temperature was steadily dropping, the wind taking on an icy constitution. Camilla shivered and wished she had worn something more substantial than her sweater. The thin material served its purpose by covering her tattoos, but yielded little in the way of warmth.

Clint ambled up beside her and set his bow at his side, arms draped over his knees as he scanned the horizon. They spent a few moments in silence before Camilla picked up the conversation.

"Not seeing any squirrels," She murmured, eyes flicking up to the branches of the tree. The leaves were turning with the change in season, some drifting lazily to the ground.

Clint shrugged sharply, "Patience. We'll get one."

Patience Camilla could do—she was the epitome of patience. And, while she waited, she could spend some time working on the whole relaxing thing Clint seemed to want to impress upon her. She could enjoy the burning smell of fall as it descended, watch the air move with incoming cooler winds, and try to figure out her feelings for the man sitting silently next to her. Camilla caught the sigh before it could escape her lips and give away her contemplative countenance. She really had no idea what to think about Clint and his interest in her. The suspicious part of her wondered if this was Shield's way of keeping track of her, of making sure that she didn't stray too close to classified information.

Glancing at Clint, Camilla rolled the idea around in her head for a moment, dismissing it with some hesitancy. Natasha would have been a better choice to keep her distracted and to infiltrate her defenses. The woman was sharp, clever, and adaptable. Clint, on the other hand, seemed a little too matter of fact, a little too straightforward to run a covert operation like this. He was all power with complete command of his body, more suited to withstanding interrogation than throwing out a red herring. But, Camilla had to admit to herself that she really didn't know a lot about Clint, other than his general appreciation for her cooking and part of his job description. He could truly be playing her and she would be going along with the whole thing blindly. She was surprised at how much she didn't care if that were true.

From her periphery, Camilla saw the smallest little movement and she smiled, leaning over a little. "Squirrel."

As soon as the word left her mouth, Clint had the bow in his hands and an arrow notched, arm tightening as he pulled back the bowstring. The squirrel didn't even have a chance to issue a half hearted dying squeak as he was pinned through the head to the trunk of the tree. Camilla pursed her lips a little, feeling pity for the poor thing, glad it had died a quick death.

Clint sidled up to the animal, Camilla not far behind, and carefully pulled it free, letting the carcass dangle from the arrowhead. He held it up for her inspection, looking far too pleased for so simple a kill.

Camilla smiled, "I think that will do just fine. Thank you."

"No problem," Clint replied, "I suppose we should take this to the kitchen."

She nodded, "Lucy will be so proud."

**I can't believe how many different paths have taken over in my mind for the storyline of this story. I'm not even sure how it will end because the characters keep shaping and reshaping themselves. **

**Let me know what you think.  
**


	9. Chapter 9

**It took me a really long time to write this chapter and the next. We're moving through the final transition of the story and barreling towards the end. **

The crowd that gathered in the living room of Stark Tower's main floor was a veritable buffet of the superhuman and the preternatural. Agent Coulson had cleared the entire tower of its employees and staff, save for the Avengers team and Camilla's Guardians. They now sat, stood, leaned, and crouched in various positions wherever they could find space as they waited for the arrival of Camilla's personal hell-spawn. She paced the long length of the glass windows in front of the pool, feeling the anticipation rise with the setting of the sun. They had done everything possible to prepare, had coated the outer and inner walls with the brew of animal magic and carved (much to Tony's chagrin) glyphs of protection into the cement. There was nothing left to do but wait.

Miranda shifted from her place in a lowered pit of pillows, "Maybe he won't come. Your vision may have changed his mind." The thought had crossed Camilla's psyche more than once in the last hour, the waiting and the watching trying even her notorious patience.

Camilla issued a sharp shake of her head, "I'm never wrong."

From nearby she heard Kenny sigh loudly, "Why not just do the calling and exorcise the son of a bitch?"

From beside him, Lucy slapped Kenny's arm in reprimand, "Because, idiot, we don't have the quartz.

Without a grounding agent, he would suck us all into the Other."

Mention of that dark realm sent shivers down the length of Camilla's already tense spine. Memories of the beast bounding forward in the shadows flashed in her mind's eye, reminding her that she was not as powerful as she would like to be and that she was consistently standing on unsteady ground. There were still places and _things_ that could outnumber and outwit her in any realm she happened to frequent. It was an acute prompt to remain careful until they had completed the task.

Steve, not dressed in his usual fighting uniform but in a button up and slacks that aged him far too much, placed his hands on his hips and leveled a severe look at Camilla. "We have no idea what we're fighting against. We have no plan, and we're practically sitting ducks."

She nodded, recognizing how royally screwed they would be if Astar made it past the glyphs, "I don't know what else to do. The demon is bolstered with the souls of potential Guardians and hell bent on seeking revenge—either on me or Darcy, I have no idea which."

Darcy, who had adamantly denied leaving while Loki remained in the building, perked up. "I'm with Steve on this one. We need a plan."

Lucy rolled her eyes, "The plan is to fortify our defenses and hold down the fort until we can get the reinforcements. Any offensive move we make to fight him off is only going to end up with one or more of us killed."

Tony, who was pouring a drink at the bar scoffed, "We'll all be dead if it gets in the house."

"Children," Coulson called out. "Fighting amongst ourselves isn't going to solve anything. Camilla and her team are well aware of the dangers of the demonic. And since we all got our asses handed to us the last time one of these things was in this living room, I think we may do well to listen to them."

Camilla was, admittedly, pretty impressed with the way Coulson could command the attention of the rather rambunctious group of people housed in the room. But, then again, that was probably in his job description under classified skill sets. The room descended back into apprehensive silence and Camilla continued to pace. From in the distance, rolls of thunder could be heard barreling across the sky.

Most of the faces in the room turned to Thor, who shrugged his massive shoulder and shook his head, "This isn't my doing." Beside him, Jane smiled subtly, nudging him a little with her thigh.

"It's Astar," Camilla murmured, her eyes squinting into the oncoming darkness. Steve, too, peered outwards next to her, arms loose at his sides. Beside him, Camilla felt small. He was a whole head taller and had at least a hundred pounds on her. There was within him this energy bursting at the walls of his restraint, a powerful force reined in until it was needed. She had seen how he fought, shield at his side, had seen how he would take down an opponent. Part of her couldn't believe that the even tempered man standing next to her could be capable of knocking down enemy after enemy without breaking a sweat. On top of that, he was commanding not only himself, but she noticed the others looking to him far more often than any other team member when a decision had to be made. The Captain wasn't just a moniker, he was leading an army of superheroes into battle and that comforted her somewhat uneasy disposition.

The thunder grew louder, the winds snapping at ledge and whipping angrily against the windows until they shook with the force. They rattled with the pressure, the water in the pool growing choppy and frantic. Camilla knew that it wouldn't be long; the time for patience was almost up. Astar wouldn't wait any longer, and she was glad of it, ready to finally see him after so many years of putting off their next meeting.

Turning, she glanced back at the group, their eyes following the rush of movement outside, each looking battle ready and more or less eager. She caught Darcy's eye, the girl winking at her with a very nearly joyous expression on her face. Knowing that now wasn't the time for philosophical exploration, she set aside the inclination to wonder at how she could sympathize with Darcy's thrilled expression.

From there, Camilla checked her team, noting how they'd each taken off whatever jacket they had been wearing to expose their tattoos. Good, there would be no time for wardrobe changes if a fight broke out. Next, and almost inevitably, she looked to Clint, bow at the ready. He, too, looked ready for a brawl, his stoic expression letting her know that there would be no hesitation if he had to take a shot. Closing her eyes for a brief second, Camilla counted her blessings that she had amassed such a force for good. It just might be enough to fend off the truly evil being that was Astar.

A sharp crack was all the warning Camilla was allowed before the glass shattered behind her, sending her sprawling. She moved as quickly as she could, scrambling away and turning her shoulders to face the windows. Incredibly, they were still intact, shimmering faintly with every flash of lightening.

"Are you alright," Steve asked, helping her to her feet.

"Fine," Camilla replied absently, her attention focused on the railing and the glass still standing before her. The psychologically induced attack was an unmistakable sign that Astar was near, already beginning his mind games. She stared hard at the ledge of the balcony, grunting when a hand slithered up over the cement rail and grasped to gain leverage. Camilla motioned jerkily to the rest of the group and she heard them rustling to standing, each taking whatever weapon they had available to them and aiming.

Rain began to pour in slicing sheets outside while the lights flickered indoors, a low hum of eerie presence filling the atmosphere. Still, Camilla waited and watched, another hand reaching up over the ledge to hoist a body that appeared to be all skin and bones onto the balcony. It was all shadows and deception, she knew, a frail appearance of a powerful entity, designed to disarm and confuse them into letting their guard down. Camilla's eyes narrowed as Astar stood, his auburn hair matted to his skin by the rain and wind. Astar was tall, well over six feet, and lean enough that his face looked almost sunken against his cheekbones. His hair was long down the length of his back, eyes glowing orange in the darkness, glinting a pale green reflection as whatever light from the room hit his retinas. If not for the ashen pallor of his skin and the nearly starving look of his build, Camilla might actually term him beautiful.

Astar smiled toothily, "Hello, Camilla. It's been a long time."

She shrugged, "Not long enough, I'd say."

"You wound me," he replied, bringing one hand to a heart that didn't beat. His smile turned to a sneer as he observed the rest of the inhabitants of the room, moving so that he was somewhat pressing against the glass. His eyes followed whatever movements were going on behind her, but Camilla knew she couldn't afford to let her attention lapse for even a second. Finally, Astar spotted Darcy and smiled so cruelly that Camilla could not help but to intervene.

"Eyes over here, Astar. Your dealings are with me," she said, her spine very straight and her gaze fierce.

Astar merely lowered his eyes demurely, tilting his head so his hair fell in straggled lumps over his shoulder. "Such spirit. I have missed you so much."

She sneered at the endearing tone and the familiarity with which he addressed her, "I doubt that."

His response was a dramatic and very convincing pout, "Again, you wound me. Careful, I may retaliate."

Camilla refused to take his bait, but she could see Steve tensing at her side, prepping to protect her if necessary. She appreciated the he had her back, but their plan was to hold firmly here until the sun rose, continuing to create more lines of defense in the morning. There would be no heroism tonight, if she had anything to do with it. Astar fed off the pride of heroic acts, twisting them into something he could use to bring death and destruction to those around him. Inaction, for the moment, would serve them best while they waited for the final components needed in the exorcism.

Pacing, Astar felt along the window, looking for flaws in their defenses with as much nonchalance as could be expected for a demon. Camilla paced with him, keeping her body between Astar and the others and checking his movements for aggression. His smile was serene and that was all the more unsettling for her. After a few laps, Astar stopped, giving a tiny sigh and reaching up to brace his hand against the glass.

Camilla fell backwards, but not down, lifted by her throat to slide across the floor on the tips of her toes. She grabbed at her neck, feeling a squeezing pressure cut off her air supply with vicious intent. Centering herself, Camilla called upon her power and channeled it through her tattoos until it burst forth across her own skin, sending the phantom attack on its way. Astar reeled back until he balanced precariously along the ledge of the pool, snarling.

In a flash, he was pounding against the window, his hands badly burned and smoking from her defense. Camilla braced herself for Astar's retaliation, sensing the support of the other Guardians as they gathered on either side of her. From all around the room, furniture began to vibrate and rock against the floor. The technology Tony had worked so hard to build and fortify misfired in random spurts, fluttering the lights and sending static pulses throughout the room. Wind from seemingly nowhere, rustled Camilla's hair and wrapped around her clothes in an attempt to knock her off balance. She fought against it, gritting her teeth as she kept her balance on the balls of her feet, her shoes squealing against the floor.

Astar snarled once more, stalking towards her with a murderous glare she had seen many times before. Camilla held up both hands, preparing another jolt of energy in grounding for a fight. He smiled, surprising her as he lifted his burn-marked palms to the storming sky.

"At the risk of sounding cliché, my darling, I'll be back."

And then there was nothing in place of where he stood, a blank circuit of moving air that gave no indication evil had been present not a millisecond before in rage and fury. Camilla allowed herself to blink for the first time in several minutes, her fingers curling in relaxation even though her shoulders remained tensed. The rain continued to pour outside, lightening flashing across the sky in regular and rhythmic patterns followed by thunder that cracked so hard Camilla had to wince as the sound reached her ears. Air stilling within, the house settled into something relatively quiet. She dropped her hands, turning to check on the group.

Most of them looked bewildered by the almost anticlimactic turn of events, their eyes flicking around the room as the furniture and equipment settled back into normality. Only Tony seemed to be able to make any sense of the situation, his expression frustrated as he checked and rechecked his calculations on the clear screen in front of him, calling out soft orders to Jarvis. Camilla rolled her eyes as he pulled Dr. Banner in on the action, pointing out inaccuracies on the glass with a Twizzler.

Camilla turned to her team, shrugging. "So, that was odd."

"Odd, how?" Darcy called out, pulling at the ends of her hair. The girl looked considerably less excited by the arrival of their mutual foe, her countenance more contemplative than keyed up.

"We're still alive, for one," Camilla replied, looking to Lucy, who was busy checking the window for damage or demonic glyphs. "He just left, for two. And, for three, the house is still standing."

"Son of a bitch," Tony called from the back. "He cut the defense systems."

"Mostly standing," Camilla amended. "Although who knows what kind of trap he's laid."

Coulson slipped his phone into his pocket, having just sent an email. He seemed to have had enough of the shenanigans going on under his nose and was now moving in to take control of the situation.

"I have two agents at every entrance, one group sweeping the building for intruders, and one checking all security systems. Tony, Bruce, I know you'll want to be checking your equipment and aborting all unnecessary experiments. Hang tight on the lab floor until I give you leave. Natasha, you and Thor take the weapons room and bring back a couple of sets of body armor. I want us protected if objects are flying across the room. Report back here when you're done. Captain, you and Loki stay here with the civilians until we can ensure the safety of the building."

It was Kenny who spoke up next, "I hate to break it to you, sir, but no amount of firepower is going to help if Astar starts working his magic around this place."

Coulson leveled a look at Kenny that could have turned an entire lake to vaporized ash. "I'm also having ten crates of holy water and every cross we can find to this room within an hour. Camilla said it responds to the Christian god. I'm prepared to go Old Testament on his ass."

If it weren't incredibly inappropriate, Camilla might have started a slow clap in response to Coulson's little speech. She really liked this guy, had to respect him for taking on Astar by the metaphorical horns—although he did like to role play the stereotypical devil on occasion. It was nice to finally have someone rise up to the challenge when Camilla had felt for so long like she was floundering. The agents moved immediately to do his bidding, acting on reflexive command to carry out his instructions without protest (mostly without protest, Tony _did_ manage to stick his tongue out at the agent as he walked).

Remembering their marred calling circle, Camilla said, "I need to check the training floor. If he's going to move in a preemptive strike, that'll be where he starts."

Coulson eyed her for a moment before nodding, "Barton, go with her. The rest of you are staying here until I get the all clear, understood?"

A round of murmurs in assent sounded across the room, but Camilla was already heading for the elevator, feeling a rise of anxiety with each step. Astar never left things unfinished, always struck hard and fast with stunning alacrity. She didn't like this new patient, conniving Astar, wasn't sure how to defeat him if the time came. Having had the demon inside her, Camilla knew how he thought and worked, knew his inner desire just as he knew hers. In all their encounters she had always been able to predict his movements and motivations. This time, however, Astar had seriously surprised her and that was… very not good.

Clint followed her into the elevator, bow held before him loosely. "So that's Astar."

"Yeah," Camilla replied lightly, her voice cracking painfully.

"Seems nice enough," he said casually. She could tell that he meant just the opposite, could read it in the tension of his arms and hands as they flexed over his weapon.

Camilla huffed, "He's a real peach."

She didn't want to talk about it, didn't want to acknowledge that she had interacted with Astar on any level. Camilla felt stupid and inept, clumsy despite her training and understanding of Astar's demonic nature. Something just wasn't sitting right in her gut about the whole night, starting with her vision. On the ride down, she went over the events many times in her head, wondering at why Astar had only exposed tiny parlor tricks in comparison to his real power. Had he been weakened in some way? She dismissed the idea, knowing that he may very well still be riding the high of potential souls. No, this was new game he'd learned, and Camilla only wished she knew the rules.

They stepped out onto the training floor, walking in tandem towards the large calling circle in the middle of the room. Camilla circled it, checking the marks for tampering and finding nothing suspicious. She went over it again, and again, until Clint's arm halted her progress.

"You're going to drive yourself crazy."

She sighed, "I just want to know what's going on."

"We all want answers," he replied gently. "But, we'd be better off finding them if we're not separated from the group for long."

Camilla hated that he was right, yet again, and already pulling her to the elevator by the tips of her fingers. She went with a trudge in her steps, sending one final glance to the training room floor and finding nothing had changed in the mere seconds she'd been looking away. Once more ensconced in the tiny space, Camilla lowered her chin to her chest and stared hard at the doors. Five days, and they would have the blessed quartz ready and she would call that arrogant soul-sucking fucker to _her court_ and they would play ball by her rules.

Bolstered by the knowledge that Astar's days were quite literally numbered, Camilla squared her shoulders and braced her feet in a slightly wider stance. The fight wasn't over, and she wasn't defeated. This was only the first battle, but she had a game plan that packed a powerful punch on top of having the backup of four other well-trained guardians. Astar could bring it, and she would face him down.

"Good girl," Clint murmured as the doors opened, his hands brushing her wrist in a subtle gesture before he stepped out. Camilla followed him, nodding to Lucy that all was well downstairs.

Soon enough, they gathered once more in the living room, this time in and around the pit of pillows at the back of the room. Camilla sat on the edge next to Darcy, who was flipping through the channels on a large drop down TV. She worked her way through the options twice, finally settling on a generic sitcom and throwing the remote to the side.

"I don't like all this waiting around," Darcy said so lowly that Camilla had to strain to hear it.

"I know," She replied, patting Darcy's back. "But, when it happens, you'll wish for more waiting."

Across the way, Camilla spied Loki speaking with his brother. He looked restless in a desperate way, frustrated and hungry all at the same time. She could see Thor working to calm him despite a similar look of discomfort on his face. Nearby, Jane looked on anxiously, occasionally scribbling notes into a splotched notebook on her lap.

The room slowly filled with nameless faces carrying crates and boxes into the center of the room, calmly directed by Coulson. Camilla watched them carefully, laughing a little at the rather ornate and tacky crosses they hauled begrudgingly one by one. Astar, demon as he was, would probably be repelled by their symbolic power for a while, but not forever. The holy water they unpacked in large jugs would be much more effective at protecting them from any demonic attacks from Astar and serving a dual purpose of seriously pissing the demon off—Camilla could deal with that, might actually enjoy seeing the look on Astar's face the first time he was foiled by (what he considered) mere mortals.

Each person in the room was handed a jug of water and crosses were scattered in random spots, leaning against walls and peeking out from tabletops. By the time the movement in the room slowed once more to a stop, Camilla had absentmindedly watched three episodes of the sitcom with Darcy and was gearing up for an argument with her about the developing love triangle.

"No, Aaron only wants to date Naomi because he wants to get into her father's company. Rick is a way better choice because he really loves her."

Camilla scoffed, "Seriously? If Rick loved Naomi, he wouldn't still be seeing Farah, and _hiding_ it from her. Tell me that doesn't reek of shadiness."

"Yeah, but at least he shows her his feelings," Darcy countered with a slight whine. "Aaron's like a freaking robot."

"A robot who saved her life," Camilla shot back, suddenly feeling the eyes of the room fall upon them. She could practically hear the lifting of brows as they scraped against a smattering of hairlines all over the place. Darcy, too, glanced around at the faces that had turned in their direction, her mouth forming a small 'o' on awkward recognition. Then, she shrugged one shoulder and settled back into the pillows, determined to enjoy the season finale with poise that would be fit for a queen.

Boots stepped in beside her and Natasha eased down gracefully so that she could check out the program. She watched for about two minutes in a very focused manner, her hands hanging loosely between her knees.

"I've seen this show, and I agree, Aaron is a much better choice. Rick's too wishy-washy."

Camilla blinked at the redhead, her speech failing her for a moment. "Thanks for the support."

"You are welcome. Now, shut up, we're missing the opening."

Quite frankly too unnerved to object, Camilla followed direction and returned her attention to the show, which began (as all season finales do) with a bang. She immersed herself in the storyline, barely managing to hold in the insults she wanted to hurl at the screen during yet another fight between the main characters. As with all things, the episode came to an end and this particular ending came complete with a character death and inspiring final monologue. Camilla stared at the screen while the credits rolled, dumbfounded by the sudden and lacerating ending. To her right, Natasha remained stoic and silent, her hands having clenched in the fist. To her left, Darcy sniffled and rubbed furiously at her nose.

"That is the biggest load of crap I have ever seen," Camilla said, finally. "Who just kills off a main character?"

Darcy glanced sidelong at her, "You must be new."

Natasha seemed to come back from wherever she went inside her mind with that comment, a sharp snort of laughter peeling from her delicate throat. Camilla had the urge to shove at her, but held back because she valued her fingers to be unbroken. Sighing, Camilla slid fully into the pit, ambling across the way to slump against the largest egg shaped pillows. Her gaze flicked around the room, taking in the various scattering of people either speaking lowly to each other or arranging weapons.

Coulson approached her, his mouth pressed into a foreboding line. He stopped just short of the ledge, the hands on his hips pushing back his suit jacket to expose the gun holstered at his side. "Camilla, do you think it's over for the night?"

Camilla looked up at him from lounged position, taking in the fatigue on his face and the slight pump of adrenaline that had his body strung tight. "Maybe. I think we should stick together—at least during the nighttime."

He nodded and began to systematically corral the troops, pulling them into a loose circle. Camilla pushed to sitting and folded her legs beneath her as she waiting for his direction. Clint somehow appeared beside her, his booted feet crossed at the ankle and one hand sneaking behind her to slip beneath the hem of her shirt. The warmth of his palm at her back served to remind her of the things Camilla stood to lose in this fight. Her team had been called in from across the region, her keeper was MIA, the council grew increasingly ineffective with bickering and arguments. Astar had presented himself and threw down the gauntlet, signaling the beginning of yet another battle wherein Camilla could only patch the situation. Her one hope in that moment was that they could stay alive until the stones were delivered and the ritual completed—that was, if Oliver's directions were useful in any way.

Coulson's voice was strong, forceful, and commanding, "From now on this building is on lockdown. No one leaves, no one comes in, no one steps outside for a smoke break. Understood? I have been assured that daylight hours weaken our enemy considerably, so you are granted freedom of movement when the sun is up. But, when the sun sets, I want every person reporting back here where we will stay until sunrise.

"To maintain safety during the day, you will move in pairs. No one leaves their rooms alone, period. I want all civilians wearing body armor at night and under supervision of a shield agent during the day. Now, you should all get comfortable. We'll be here a while."

There was a mass of shuffling , yet somehow most of them ended out laying or sitting in or around the pillow pit. Darcy hadn't relinquished control of the remote, but she had changed the channel to an action flick that seemed to satisfy most visual appetites. Camilla watched through the first movie, the sequel, and a prequel before her eyes finally dropped closed. She wasn't even aware that she'd fallen asleep until light peeked through the glass windows, seeming to aim right for her eyeballs. With a groan, she turned over and buried her head beneath a pillow. Part of her was conscious of Clint as he adjusted to her movement, his body curling around her securely.

Sometime later, she became aware of the fact that she was being carried down the hall away from the living room. The only fact that kept her from struggling for freedom was the familiar scent and skin holding her close. Camilla dozed in and out of consciousness until she was laid on a wide bed far more comfortable than her own. She stretched a little, scooting across the mattress to accommodate for Clint's body. He settled in beside her and pulled her to his body with an arm around her waist, trapping her legs with one thigh slung heavily across them.

Once more comfortable, Camilla slipped back into a sleep that was, for once, dreamless and peaceful. She wasn't sure how long she slept, but when she woke, the other side of the bed was empty. Groggily, she glanced around the room, looking for signs that Clint was still there. Pushing back the sheets, Camilla rolled from the bed and padded over to the door, peering out into the living room of his apartment and finding it similarly empty. Brow furrowed, she edged back into the bedroom and sat sleepily on the bed. Alone, Camilla could take the time to observe the room in detail.

Most of the furniture looked pretty standard, she had the same dresser in her own room, but it was worn from heavy use here in Clint's. Every aspect of the room was lived in, from the various boots and shoes lined up against the wall to the myriad of hooded sweatshirts lying haphazardly over an armchair. Curiously, there were no photos on the wall or propped up on the side table, just a few souvenirs from around the world and a heavy duty wristwatch. Camilla stood and made her way over to the dresser, touching the tiny Eiffel tower with a smile.

Turning in a small circle, Camilla wondered if Clint would be gone all morning (or afternoon as the clock now read half past eleven). As much as she would love a bath, Camilla settled for shuffling into the bathroom and splashing her face with water repeatedly, swishing a handful of water in her mouth and spitting into the sink. Hands braced on either side of the sink, Camilla stared at her reflection for a moment. She was tired even though she'd slept well, groggy enough that her vision required effort to focus. But, things were clearing up a bit with every passing moment, and Camilla knew that soon she would be as well rested as could be possible given the lack of sleep.

Moving out into the main room of the apartment, Camilla headed straight for the kitchen, determined to make herself a cup of coffee and get a much needed caffeine jolt. She ambled around the island, locating the coffeemaker and the can of ground sitting next to it. Once she'd set the heat, she checked the refrigerator for breakfast items. Clint was definitely a guy, with very little in way of food sitting on the shelves. There was milk, a couple of boxes of take out, and a case of beer, none of which helped her make anything remotely normal for the first meal of the day.

Staring at the open fridge, Camilla clucked her tongue and pulled out the boxes of takeout, opening each one and setting it on the counter. Some of it wasn't salvageable, having sat too long in the container. But, Camilla was able to scrape some rice, spaghetti, and meatballs from the packages, throwing the rest away before it started growing penicillin. Reaching into the back of the fridge, she pulled out a forgotten bag of flour and the milk, spying a half eaten bag of shredded cheese along the way. Using mismatched Tupperware, Camilla mixed up some batter for biscuits and heated a skillet for the rice and pasta. While the biscuits cooked in the oven, she slowly heated the rest of the ingredients in the skillet, mixing them gently.

When the biscuits-that-actually-looked-more-like-pancakes were browned, she carefully pushed them out onto a pair of plates and topped each with a bit of her mixture. Setting the skillet aside, she added a dash of cheese to each and seasoned them with a little salt and pepper. Camilla had just finished pouring her cup of coffee when the door opened and Clint stepped through. He was dressed in sweats and a t-shirt, his hair matted down against his forehead, suggesting that he'd been pulled from sleep for a meeting of some kind.

Holding up a plate, she called out, "I made breakfast and there's coffee if you want it."

Clint stepped into the kitchen and eyed the plate, expressionless and silent. Camilla raised her brows as he approached, tilting her head to the side and offering him the food with narrowed eyes. He took the plate and set it aside, his other hand gripping her coffee mug and, likewise, setting on the counter. Then, he dropped to a knee with both hands gripping her hips just above the waistband of her linen pants. Forehead pressed to the space below her bellybutton, Clint inhaled deeply, his hands flexing a little.

Camilla held still, confused but willing to let him do whatever it was that he was doing if it made him feel better. She ran her hands through his messy hair and waited for the explanation she wasn't sure he would give. With one final inhale, Clint stood, relinquishing none of the space between them. He exhaled and nosed her cheek, searching for a kiss. Camilla smiled and offered her mouth to him, her hands falling to his shoulders so that she could keep balance.

One arm lowering to lift her, Clint hauled her up and backward to sit on the edge of the counter next to the still warm stove. Her breathless laugh was cut off by another forceful kiss that had her skin flushing. It was as if he wanted to devour her, his lips taking in her mouth, neck, and the skin just below her clavicle. Camilla was barely able to keep up, distracted by the skill of his hands and the feeling of being the object of his hunger. She was all molten emotion and wanton need, the fiery coursing of her blood beating in time with her pounding heart.

Purposefully, Clint slowed the kiss until they were simply two bodies pressing together and sharing heavy breaths. He ran his hands up the length of her legs from calf to thigh, skirting around the mark at her hip to pull her toward him off the counter. She watched him gather the plate of pizza biscuits and pour a cup of coffee before sitting down at the small dining table.

Camilla followed with her own plate and cup, saying sheepishly, "Are you always this excited about breakfast?"

He smirked into his plate, forking a bite into his mouth and chewing thoughtfully. "I am for your breakfast."

"Its leftovers," Camilla replied dryly, "You seriously need to go grocery shopping."

The shrug he issued was noncommittal, but it was his hands that kept grabbing her attention. They were quick, precise, and purposeful. There was nothing that was superficial, nothing showy or pretentious in the way he moved. Camilla was once more hit with the comprehension of just how controlled Clint was in the most natural way. It manifested itself not only in his fighting style, but also in the fact that he was very much the cleanest eater she had ever seen. That fact, alone, had her taking extra time with her plate to prevent crumbs from the pancake biscuits from getting everywhere.

When the meal was eaten and the plates were gathered, Camilla set about washing up the dishes in the sink. As she went through the familiar movements of scrubbing, rinsing, and drying, she was acutely aware of Clint's consistent observation. He leaned against the counter and watched her efforts, sipping coffee. Camilla did her best to pretend he wasn't there, working her way through the stack of dishes and setting them aside to dry. When she reached down to pull the plug from the drain, Clint leaned over her to set his mug in the sink.

Despite herself, Camilla found her body freezing with his proximity, not so much in fear as with anticipation and awareness. By now she should have gotten used to him invading her space at every opportunity, but each new experience brought that same dropping in her stomach and the same burn of and shaking of her nerves. Camilla held very still and watched his hand release the mug into the watch, the porcelain dropping to the bottom and gathering suds. It filled with water and she could see a faint mist of condensation rushing up the exposed sides from the heat.

Picking it from the water, Camilla ran a sponge over the outside, the handle, and the inner rim. She scrubbed away any remnants of the coffee, rinsing the suds with cool water before placing it along with the rest of the dishes to air dry. Only then did she release the plug and let the water drain from the sink, the leftover soap gathering in a half sphere of tiny bubbles. Clint, who had been silent and motionless for this procedure, finally found it within himself to move. He grabbed the drying cloth from the handle of the stove and, with his free hand, grasped her wrist. The towel was a little rough against her palms, but his touch was confident, gentle. Working the cloth between her fingers and over the backs of her hands, Clint removed every drop of water from skin that had begun to prune.

Camilla watched him, watched the flickering of his eyes as he went over his work and the smooth rotation of his hands and wrists as he held her. Much like when he had treated her wounds after her visit to Oliver, she felt this kind of strange compassion coming from him. He was taking such care of her and some part of Camilla wondered why he even felt the compulsion. She was reminded of the fact that they really didn't know each other very well, had been thrown together into an extraordinary situation and that their nearness was not permanent. Yet, even as she recognized these things, Camilla knew that whatever was happening at that very moment would be carried with her for possibly the rest of her life.

Having finished his task, Clint set the towel aside and simply held both of her hands, his eyes scanning the skin. She didn't know what he might be looking for, but Camilla allowed it for a long while, patiently assessing and reassessing the situation in an effort to allow Clint the moment he seemed to require. Using her hands as leverage, he pulled her into his body, circling her with his arms. Camilla pressed her forehead to his shoulder, closing her eyes against the fabric of his shirt and simply enjoyed the feeling of behind held.

"Camilla," he murmured, pushing her hair from her neck.

She hummed in response, tracing a line of muscle near his spine, her finger dipping into a valley and dragging a little of the fabric upwards. He swayed a little on his feet and she felt more than heard his sigh. She drank in everything about that moment with all her senses, memorizing it for those future days when she was once more on her own. He was the most solid thing that had ever entered her life, unwaveringly facing every darkness that approached, eyes set on the target.

"You know," he said, breaking the silence, "I could really get used to this."

Camilla snorted, "You're just saying that because I make good food."

Clint smiled against the skin of her neck, "Your cooking is fucking awesome, but I like you, too. All my culinary needs served up in one hot little package."

She snorted again, "Flattery won't get you more pancakes."

His chuckle was low, "Let's switch tactics, then."

Clint's kiss was warm and the tiniest bit sweet, the pressure of his mouth firm enough that Camilla couldn't help but to follow his lead. He caught her bottom lip lightly between his teeth, worrying the flesh with his tongue before letting go. The hands at her hips slipped downwards into the back pockets of her pants, pulling her forward to press intimately against him. Camilla's hands clenched into the fabric of his shirt as she felt him hardening against the crease of her hip. Tentatively, she lifted onto her toes, turning out her hips until she could run the length of her pelvis against him, a sense of pride welling up inside her at the abrupt tilt and turn of the kiss.

It burned a path from her mouth to her belly, sending warring messages of excitement and apprehension from her brain to her body. Camilla, as happened to be the pattern of late, felt completely out of control in her own body. She fed from him, taunted by his scent and the confident movements of his tongue. While she had never taken a man into her bed before, Camilla somehow knew that, if she decided to follow through on the promises she was writing with her hands and lips, it would be an experience she wasn't likely to forget.

Clint was such a distraction, the most seductive kind of temptation because he offered her the things she could never hope to hold onto permanently. He was supportive and kind, appreciative of whatever gifts she happened to expose to him and, more than anything, he accepted her power without question or fear. His were the first eyes that had ever looked at her as something more than a pawn, more than a body to be taken advantage of, to be sacrificed for the good of the many. Clint looked at her as a man looked at a woman, and that was far more powerful than any spell or glyph.

Peppering kisses down he jaw and neck, Clint breathed deep and reached up to tangle his fingers in the strands of her hair. Using the length as leverage, he tilted her head backward so that she was looking up at the ceiling, nearly blind to his actions. Blunt teeth edged over her skin, the warm column of his tongue following the line and dipping into the hollow of her throat. She hissed with the sensation, scrambling at him for purchase as her knees gave out beneath her.

Holding firm, Clint maneuvered her to the wall separating the kitchen from the living room, lifting her by the thighs. Giving a little hop, Camilla wrapped her calves around his hips, laughing a little as they both regained their balance. Clint kissed her again, the smile still so widely present that their teeth clicked together. One hand beneath her ass to hold her steady, he cupped her jaw and held her still for another hard kiss. She returned it eagerly, both arms wrapping around his neck to hold him close.

The kiss remained slow, soft in a way that gave Camilla the opportunity to let down a few of her defenses and put some of the emotions she felt for him into the embrace. Camilla still felt some confusion when it came to Clint, wasn't sure what kind of affection held for him—for certain, she held affection for him. He made her feel safe, gave her confidence, and when he kissed her it was like every second of her life had led to that moment. Every trial, every mistake, had all brought her to the point where Clint could kiss her without Camilla feeling guilty, shamed, or unworthy.

A vibration buzzed against her thigh and Camilla pulled away abruptly, lifting both brows at Clint in question. He smirked, lowering her to the ground and reaching into his pocket. Cell to his ear, he answered curtly, "Barton."

As he listened, Clint traced the meridian of her frame, fingertips dipping into the waistband of her pants and pulling her away from the wall. He rubbed the skin just below the hem of her underwear, his expression thoughtful despite the conversation sounding off in his ear. Camilla watched him carefully, all the while working to control the rhythm of her breathing that had suddenly become erratic. He ended the call without saying goodbye, shoving the phone back into his pocket.

"I've gotta go."

Camilla nodded, "Okay."

He paused a moment, taking in her flustered state and smiled. Leaning in, Clint pressed a forceful kiss to her mouth, nipping at her lower nip as he pulled away. "Hold that thought."

Camilla had no doubt that she would be holding dearly to those thoughts for the foreseeable future.

**So we get our first brief glimpse of Astar. There's more of his gnarly self coming up in a few chapters, but I couldn't resist throwing him in for a bit right here. **


	10. Chapter 10

**So, so sorry about how long it took to get this chapter up and running. All I can say is that it has been a hell of a week at work and my exhaustion has left me little time to write. However, this chapter and the next have that air of citrus that might sway you from throwing things at me. Enjoy.**

Camilla eased her body down onto the floor, both legs laid out in front of her with their toes pointed towards the wall. Next to her, Lucy sat in a similar position, reaching out to pull the balls of her feet towards her in a stretch. They went through a few practiced motions, working upwards along the legs to ease each muscle into looseness. From there, arms, back and shoulders were stretched until both were standing, shaking out their limbs. It had been a long time since Camilla engaged in hand to hand combat with Lucy, far too long since she had no idea if Lucy had gained any new tricks in the last year. She cleared her mind and circled her opponent, breathing deeply as she took her initial stance.

They faced off for a long moment in the silence of the room and Camilla had to clench her fingers into fists in order to keep still. She would not make the first move, not in this fight and not with this opponent. Lucy had always made her anxious as a sparring partner, mostly because of all the Guardians she had the least control over her power and more often than not, her punches came packed with a little something extra. A slight flex of Lucy's knees and the fight was on. Camilla dodged a hook, ducked beneath the swing, and rotated around to throw a punch of her own. Lucy blocked it carefully and they separated for a moment before Camilla moved forward, working to keep Lucy moving across the floor in the hope that she might tire the younger woman out.

Soon enough, mere punches weren't giving either any progress as they'd both had the same training for defense and Camilla had to slip down and take Lucy to the floor by hitting hard at Lucy's center of gravity. She was taken down with Lucy, who rolled in an attempt to pin Camilla to the ground by her shoulders. They tussled for a bit before Camilla was able to kick away from Lucy and push back to standing, both hands raised in defense. Lucy, likewise, stood and then they were once more circling each other, testing one another's patience. Camilla watched Lucy move, noting how, even in the fluorescent tennis shoes, she was still graceful. It was a skill Camilla had never quite mastered, that silent padding of her feet, no matter what particular shoes she was wearing. Her steps were always thudding down the hall, disturbing others as she walked.

Camilla took the initiative for their next round, feinting to the left and following up with a right jab that hit home across Lucy's jaw. The woman's head snapped back, even though Camilla wasn't using full force behind her strike. She recovered quickly, countering with a swift kick to Camilla's hips that sent her reeling backwards. The fight picked up speed, more punches, kicks, and throws compacting together until Camilla was heaving large breaths and her lungs were burning. Rolling with Lucy's moves, she tucked her body together and shot out one leg to sweep the other woman's feet out from under her. Lucy hopped the strike and used the momentum from her downward movement to push Camilla down, holding her with a forearm across Camilla's chest.

"Okay," Camilla croaked, "I'm good. We're done."

Lucy smiled down at her smugly, helping her to standing and heading over to a bench and sitting heavily. Camilla joined her, wiping at the sweat on her brow and wincing as she felt a muscle ache in her wrist. She worked it gently, rubbing at the bone and muscle while she caught her breath. The workout had been general enough that she felt energized rather than exhausted, but she knew that she had been slacking in her physical exercise lately. Camilla couldn't afford to lose her strength out of sheer laziness or distraction. It was just so easy to forgo the long jogs and alternating weight days when she was worrying about seemingly more important things.

Lucy pulled the tie from her hair and swept her hands backward to once more gather the loose strands into a neat and orderly ponytail. Once finished, she sighed heavily and dropped her hands to the bench on either side of her hips. From the set of her shoulders and the working of her jaw, Camilla could tell the Lucy had something to say and was running over how she was going to say it. Settling further onto the bench and leaning against the wall, Camilla looked to the ceiling and began the process of waiting Lucy out. There wouldn't be much time to wait, but trying to draw the woman out too soon would only send Lucy back behind her own defenses.

Scratching at her temple, Lucy began, "What are you doing, Camilla?"

Raising a brow, Camilla simply replied, "That's a vague question, Lucy."

Dark eyes turning to her, Lucy shook her head and gestured sharply with her hand, "You and the archer. Better yet, you and this whole building. You know all of this is pointless, right?"

Camilla stared at her hands, rubbing one thumb over the other while she thought reluctantly about her answer. The truth was, any response she gave would sound childish and petulant to her own ears—she wanted to get to know these people, she wanted to develop and maybe maintain a relationship with them for a while. She _wanted_ to figure out where whatever this thing with Clint went, partly because she wanted to say that she hadn't been afraid and partly because he made her feel happy. These were things that she desired even though desire, itself, had been weaned from her system since before she hit puberty.

"I'm doing what I want," Camilla answered finally, linking her hands together. It was as close to the truth as she could get despite that fact that she wasn't really sure if there happened to be a deeper reason behind her dalliance with Clint. It could end with nothing for all she knew, but Camilla was fascinated enough to seek out the end despite her ignorance.

Lucy scoffed, "You're putting yourself in danger. Attachments create opportunity for demons and you know that more than any of us."

Knowing Lucy was right, Camilla simply nodded a little and dropped her head to her chest to stretch the muscles of her neck. For eighteen years she had been acutely aware of how love, affection, and friendship could only lead to terror and pain in her world. It was only in the last five years or so that the nightmares stopped coming regularly and she wasn't constantly checking over her shoulder into the shadows for Astar's face. Now, when the end of the drama that brought her into the fold of the Guardians was so near, it seemed foolish to add another variable to the equation.

Shifting her feet, Camilla rolled her shoulders, saying, "I'm old, Lucy."

"Pfft," Lucy retorted, "You're not old."

Camilla raised a brow and smiled, "In this business, I should have been dead twice over. Will is the closest in age to me and he's not even twenty six yet."

Seeming to take her statement into consideration, Lucy fiddled a little with her nails, picking at some loose skin around the cuticle of her thumb. She sighed and stood, stretching her arms above her head and rotating from side to side. Dropping her arms, she spun on her foot and stared Camilla down, her jaw set hard enough that Camilla could hear Lucy's teeth grind. Camilla returned Lucy's gaze unerringly, wondering at what she was thinking and half uncaring.

At last, Lucy glanced away to the far end of the room, "It's still dangerous."

"I know," Camilla asserted in exasperation, the tiniest bit of edge in her voice. "Shouldn't it be my choice to make?"

"It should," Lucy replied, shuffling her feet lightly, "But you know that's not reality. We're meant to be alone, us Guardians."

"That's not fair," Camilla nearly shouted, rising to standing. "I've spent my whole life practically by myself facing the things that would terrify most people. I have had no one and nothing that was truly mine since I was twelve. Haven't I paid my dues?"

Lucy's eyes turned very sad, her lashes lowering as she searched for the words to match the emotion whirling in her expression. She pressed her lips into a fine line, and then answered lowly, "We commit our lives when we take the marks. The only way out is death."

Frustration building, Camilla released a sharp breath and turned away from Lucy, the truth of her statement ringing in her ears. She made her way to the elevator and back towards her room, flopping down on her bed. Trying not to think about her problem only made it seem even larger than when she first perceived it, the issue looming over her like some dark cloud. Fisting her hands into her pillow, Camilla screamed her anger into it, kicking her legs out from beneath her wildly. She repeated the process a second time, the scream ending on a sob as she once more came face to face with her solitary lifestyle and the sadness she had always felt but just managed to suppress. In that moment, she could have punched Clint, could have shaken Darcy, could have—well, she probably would settle for a glare with Natasha. Camilla wanted to tear them apart for making her like them, for making her want to get to know them. They had made her understand just how lonely she was, made her comprehend how depressed the thought of returning that lifestyle made her feel. All of this occurred in only a matter of a week or so, a timeframe that would have been remarkable were it not for the high tension of the demonic speeding those emotive bonds along.

This was her fault, she knew, for letting her guard down and being friendly with the locals. It wouldn't matter how much they promised to keep in touch, email, text, etc. There would come a time either circumstances beyond her control or the council intervened, forcing Camilla to turn away from them completely. Lucy was right, she was only causing herself more pain and creating more obstacles in her quest to defeat the agents of darkness. The action Camilla needed to take should have been simple, extricating herself from the group and leaving promptly after the mission was complete.

But, Camilla felt intensely her age—or, rather, her aging. Her body, while still in top condition, could not sustain the isolation after having been reintroduced to touch (intimate or otherwise). Even if Camilla could pull away psychologically and physically, she would still crave the sensation of a simple embrace long after she left the building. It would be impossible to turn back now, but how could she continue on this path? The council wasn't likely to give her reprieve, and if the story about August was correct, her refusal to follow orders could lead to incarceration in one of the most heavily guarded council prisons in the world.

Rubbing at her cheeks, Camilla curled into a tiny, pathetic ball in the middle of her mattress, her eyes staring unseeing at the wall as she tried to figure out what she would do. She stared for so long that her vision grew fuzzy and she lost track of the time, her eyelids drooping. Exhausted and groggy, Camilla fell asleep unthinkingly, her hands still curled around her pillow. There was no telling how long she slept, but the sun was starting to lower towards the horizon when Camilla opened her eyes once more.

Pushing out her limbs, she sneered at the sweat and salt that had dried on her skin, leaving it itchy and covered in grime. Sliding from the bed, Camilla grabbed some clothes and headed to the bathroom, reaching down to turn on the hot water. She filled the tub as she stripped, throwing the soiled clothing to the side and stepping over the edge into the water. The steam and the heat worked to soothe her still fragile nerves, easing her away from the distress and moving her towards serenity. Camilla went through her washing routine before settling down to soak in the water.

The silence and the lack of distractions allowed Camilla to find a little more time to think about her situation sans the emotional turmoil. Camilla felt that she was right, she deserved some happiness, however fleeting or misguided. Then again, Lucy was also right, with this happiness would inevitably bring Camilla some sadness at the end of it. The sadness was to be expected with the letting go of those she had developed a relationship with, but now knowing the consequences of her actions Camilla might be able to better deal with them. She could enjoy the connections she made while she was here, treasure them when she was gone, and put a stopper in the negative emotions that might arise.

Her hands and feet were beginning to prune and the water was losing its warmth. Camilla stood from the tub and released the water down the drain, reaching for a towel as she went. She dried off the droplets of water and wrung the excess from her hair before pulling on a pair of soft yoga pants. Sitting on the toilet, Camilla snapped her bra into place and leaned both forearms on her knees. She was still a bit tired from the stress of the day and of the previous night, but her nap had helped considerably to relieve her weary body. Grabbing her tank top, Camilla headed out of the bathroom and nearly shrieked in surprise when she found Clint leaning casually against her door.

"Can you not sneak up on me like that?" She breathed, clutching the tank top to her chest.

His expression was serious as he replied, "I'd be lying if I said I was sorry."

Camilla smiled, "I believe you."

In fact, Clint did not look in the least bit repentant for somehow making his way past her locked door and lounging around her room while she was bathing. Rather, he looked very proud of himself for his accomplishment. In a split second, Camilla recognized his intent to approach her and her brain kick-started with a brief summary of her conundrum. The arguments for both sides flashed before her, running through every pro and con at a break neck pace. She was faced with the necessity of making a decision, concrete and final, in the span of a few seconds as Clint moved towards her from across the room.

There would be complications, there would be huge risks, but Camilla was entering into this with full knowledge of how it would eventually end. She knew that there would be a conclusion, even had an estimate for the end date. With the kind of life that Camilla expected to continue living until her eventual death, it was likely that she would never get this kind of opportunity again or feel for another person the way she felt for Clint—whatever her definition for those emotions might be at any given time. The reality of the situation was that Camilla needed this experience just like she needed the training for her duties as a Guardian. It was an essential part of her life that she had put off out of fear for her own well-being, unknowing that she had been hurting herself all along.

Decision made, Camilla didn't resist when Clint pulled the tank top unceremoniously from her fingers. She held her body loosely as he gathered her to his chest and kissed her, the feat now so very familiar to her skin. Returning his affection enthusiastically, Camilla wrapped her arms around his shoulders and rested more of her weight against him. She closed her eyes tightly and gave her senses over to the feeling of being held and wanted by this man who touched her without reservation. Clint was un-phased by her position, by her power, and by her own apprehensions. He challenged them without fear, determined to show her what she had been missing her whole life and seemingly ready to accept the consequences for his own actions.

Grip tightening around her waist, Clint backed her up a few steps, pushing one hand against her abdomen to hold her in place against the nearby wall. He then used the fingers of his free hand to slip the cup of her bra downwards, exposing her skin to the cool air of the room, a sensation that was fiercely contrasted with the heat of his mouth. Gasping, Camilla arched into the rough, wet feeling of Clint's tongue as he rolled the muscle around her nipple, releasing it with a soft 'pop'. She bit down on her lip to keep the wanton sound from escaping her throat, her hands braced against his body simply to remain standing.

Repeating the process once more with the opposite breast, Clint stopped a moment to press his forehead to the center of her chest. Camilla carded her hands through his hair, using the strands as leverage to pull him up for another kiss. She bit at him, tasting his urgency as it rose to match her own. Wanting more, she pulled at the material of his shirt, pushing the fabric out from the waistband of his cargos and lifting it upwards so that she could trace the lines of his chest. Clint groaned at the touch and she could feel it vibrating beneath her palms, the sound thrilling her unexpectedly.

Camilla had heard men groaning in pain, in humiliation, and in fear during her lifetime—had in fact been the cause of those noises at one time or another. And yet, never had the sound of rolling breath from the lungs of a man struck her so pointedly, leaving her stunned and eager all the same. The reverberation of his panting inhalations against her skin sent her heart to racing and set fire to the nerves screaming throughout her body. It was the most incredible thing Camilla had ever felt and the most exhilarating part about it was that there was infinitely more to discover. She had so much skin to map and memorize, so much to touch, taste, and enjoy. Camilla couldn't wait.

Within seconds, the pair of them were moving clumsily away from the wall towards the bed, falling upon it in a tangled heap of limbs. The impact of their bodies upon the mattress seemed to shock Clint back to reality as he scrambled a little to lift himself from her, caging her body with his arms and legs on either side of her body. He stared, gaze catching in some very strategic locations before returning to Camilla's face.

"We don't have time for this," he breathed, one hand lifting to run along the seam of her waistband. "The sun will be down in ten minutes and, even though I think the nighttime is the right time, Coulson will be hunting us down." He smiled, "I have a feeling you're not much of an exhibitionist."

Camilla blinked, slow to comprehending, replying, "I really wouldn't know for sure."

Chuckling, Clint pushed back on his ankles and shoved his arms back into his shirt. Camilla watched him, admiring the economy of his movement and the rather pleasing aesthetic of his body while she readjusted her own clothing. He helped her to standing and moved away towards the door, swatting her ass as he went. Camilla simply shook her head and reached down for her tank top, pulling it over her head. After she shoved her feet into some shoes, Clint opened the door and gestured that she should lead the way out into the hall. Camilla followed his unsaid instruction, eyes narrowing with the suspicion that his gentlemanly behavior was performed only for the benefit of the opportunity of watching her as she walked away.

By the time they made it to the living room, most of the usual suspects were already lounging in the pit of pillows, an action that was clearly orchestrated by the maniacally grinning Darcy Lewis. She waved from her spot wedged between an indulgent Loki and a sardonically smiling Tony. Several large bowls of popcorn were being passed around and Camilla caught the scent of some burned kernels. It seemed that no matter how complex the technology of the house seemed to be, one could still manage to burn popcorn. The fact was strangely comforting.

From the corner of her eye, Camilla caught sight of Coulson moving towards the group, his ubiquitous cell phone in his hand. He nodded to her as he passed before sitting down gracefully near the edge of the pit, crossing his legs at the ankle.

Darcy held up the remote and began pressing buttons in rapid succession, "Alright, guys, be ready for some grade A horror gold." When there came a couple of long suffering sighs, she continued, "If we're going to be stuck here because of some bullshit demonic asshole, we're going to have some bullshit demonic movie genres to make fun of."

There was general consensus throughout the room that Darcy had a point and they all kind of settled into their respective seats as the movie cued. Camilla squeezed into a corner, leaning against the wall and checking the windows for signs of paranormal presence. Nothing in the house was moving or seemed even remotely amiss, but she couldn't help to check and recheck the perimeter, just in case. Clint sat beside her, one leg flung over to settle over her knee in a firm reminder that he really wasn't quite done with her. The weight of it gave her some support in her understanding that they were all in this together and that, should the shit hit the fan, every single person in the room would be on their feet and ready to fight in half a second.

As the gore and mayhem unfolded on the screen, it contrasted heavily with the potentiality of similar (but infinitely more devastating) happenstances occurring to the people in the room. Granted, the heroine of the flick seemed hell bent on falling into the trap set by the antagonist, but there were some striking parallels. Camilla watched as one by one the group was separated and cut down in progressively more grotesque ways that seemed more and more unrealistic. She scoffed at a few of the one liners and saved a few in her mental rolodex for those times when it was appropriate to give a demon one final verbal jab. Overall, however, she merely sat back and enjoyed the show for what is was, mindless entertainment that gave the viewer a voyeuristic perspective on murder.

Darcy, it seemed, had the innate ability to overpower every voice in the room in order to get her own way. They made it through two more gore fest fiascos before Jane finally finagled the remote from her fingers and cued up a comedy. From there, the group either laughed until they cried or had to stop to explain the joke to either Steve or one of the godly brothers, as matter of pop culture didn't seem to be generally known amongst them. Camilla had never been one to watch a lot of television, preferring books to idleness, but she vowed from then on to at least work her way through the many comedic stand up specials of Eddie Murphy as she could. His voices were spot on, his observations visceral and witty, and his facial expressions contorted in ways she couldn't even fathom. It was absolutely soothing to laugh until her stomach hurt and to hide her cackles into a pillow, feeling the common thread of amusement flow between the others so that even Coulson was laughing into his palm, one heel stomping against the tile.

Jane continued to choose comedies, whether out of need to lighten the tension in the room or out of general interest in the genre, Camilla didn't know. She was, however, grateful to the scientist for helping to keep the group of being driven crazy in the sheer act of waiting for _something_ to happen that night. They passed a few more hours in smiling humor until the need for sleep began to crept in, staring with Darcy and moving around the room until the choice of movies was left up to the television itself (which thought infomercials an improvement as far as entertaining the masses was concerned.)

Camilla fought to stay awake in the wee hours of the morning, lifting her brows in order to keep her eyes open. Beside her, Clint, wrapped an arm around her shoulders and leaned down to tell her that it was okay to sleep. He and Coulson would keep watch for danger, waking her if necessary. Camilla, disappointed with her own inability to pull an all-nighter drifted off to sleep pillowed on Clint's chest and lulled by the _amazing opportunity_ for the next one hundred callers.

Much like the previous night, Camilla was carried from the room when the sun was up and set into the confines of Clint's bed, his body pressing to her back as she drifted back into deep sleep. Also much like her previous experience, Camilla woke to an empty room. However, she could hear sound from the kitchen that signaled the whole apartment wasn't empty and that Clint was probably working to return the favor of cooking breakfast for the two of them.

Sitting up, Camilla rubbed the sleep from her eyes and ran her hands through her hair, pulling it into a low ponytail with the tie at her wrist. She leaned against the headboard as she pushed the grogginess from her head, orienting herself once more to Clint's bedroom. The good thing about the heavy travel required by her job was that she never quite felt the shock of waking up and not knowing where she was. Camilla had never quite gotten used to any one room and couldn't, thus, have a regular room with which to orient herself to normality. Waking up in strange places was par for the course in the life of Camilla Paige, and this morning was no different than any other.

It was no different than any other except for the fact that there was a shirtless, beautiful man bringing her freshly made coffee in bed. She had to pinch herself to make sure she wasn't still dreaming.

"You've been reading my mind," Camilla murmured as she took the mug.

Clint shrugged and smiled, settling in comfortably beside her with his own mug. "Just earning my brownie points for the day."

She laughed, saluting Clint with her coffee, "Well done, sir."

"Thank you, Lady Paige," he replied, his voice imitating the strong accent found in his Asgardian comrades. For a moment, they simply rested in silence, each sipping their respective beverages and enjoying each other's company.

Clint set his coffee aside, turning a little against the pillows to face her and Camilla squinted at him curiously. He touched his fingers together, saying, "Tell me again how you're still a virgin?"

Her squinted eyes shifted to a narrowed, baleful glare. "You know exactly how that's possible," she answered, dryly.

Clint's smiled was a little mischievous, but Camilla couldn't detect any malice in the expression. He simply enjoyed speaking with her about this particular subject, was in fact seemingly fascinated with understanding how her life had excluded sex so completely for so long. Sometimes Camilla wondered at this fact, herself, thinking about all the opportunities she had been presented with and how she simply hadn't taken them—hadn't wanted to take them. Camilla had hands, knew very well how to take care of business when the need arose. Engaging in complicated courtship rituals that would be short-lived and ultimately unsatisfactory would have expended too much energy better delegated to other activities. That was until Camilla met Clint and began to wonder just how a man like that could please a woman like her. The idea (fortunately or unfortunately) had grown on her.

"Some guy has to have propositioned you at some point…at a bar or in a coffee shop—a coworker, someone."

She chuckled, "Like Kenny?"

His expression soured a little, "I see your point. But, some guy in a bar when you were unwinding after a mission. Someone, somewhere, _had_ to have noticed you."

Camilla shrugged a little, "I guess not, or I probably didn't notice them. Flirtation and mating rituals aren't my area of expertise."

"Seem to be doing alright," Clint asserted, eyes flicking down the length of her body. He reached out and traced the line of muscle along her calf, fingers dipping into the hollow at the back of her knee and continuing up a path towards her thigh. Camilla held still, allowing him to explore as he liked while she worked to maintain her composure despite her pounding heart. The light caress continued until Clint was pulling her to settle against his side, a move that allowed him much more opportunity to touch her freely.

"Do you even want to have sex?"

Camilla shrugged a shoulder, "Well, yeah, but maintaining a relationship in my line of work, even finding the time to set up a date of sorts, is time consuming. And, forgive me, but from what I understand the outcome is not always…satisfying. I can usually take care of things myself if I have to."

He nodded and scraped a nail over the skin just below her bellybutton, "Do you want to have sex with me?"

The question was so startling to Camilla, so startling in fact that it took her a while to even comprehend what the implications of her answer might be. If she said yes, the decision seemed to be an invitation; if she said no, a rebuff. Camilla had to seriously think about what it would mean if she took her relationship with Clint to a physical level, how that would affect her in the long run. The process of thinking over the question got so complicated in her mind that Camilla had to stop her mental train of thought on its tracks and get back to the root of her issue: Did she want to have sex with Clint?

"Yes," she answered, turning her eyes to Clint's inquisitive face.

He smiled even as the pupils of his eyes widened to nearly eclipse his iris, the heat in his gaze a clear indication of his intentions. Camilla met his stare as bravely as she could despite the fact that her stomach was tightening with anxious anticipation and her brain was whirring with the possibilities. She waited as patiently as she could for Clint to make some kind of move, but he simply continued to caress her skin, occasionally dragging the blunt ends of his nails across it. The tension lasted so long Camilla thought she might crack beneath it, but she managed to hold still and wait until Clint had formed a plan in his mind, his fingertips patting her skin as if to cement his decision.

"This is how we'll go from here," he murmured, sliding down and rolling so that he was lying on his stomach, her knees on either side of his hips. "You're going to show me how to please you so that, when I take you, I'll know I've hit the target. I want to watch you come. Any questions?"

Her jaw unhinged for several seconds, shocked as she was at his casual nature. Then, without any kind of counterargument in mind, Camilla just nodded, agreeing to his terms. He looked at her a moment longer so that he could take in her sincerity, and then he was moving up her body and kissing her hard. Clint took no time at all sliding his tongue into her mouth, drawing her towards him, and scraping his teeth along her lower lip. Camilla kept up as best she could, holding him by the shoulders so that she could better predict the movement of his body.

Kissing his way down the line of her jaw, Clint pushed his hands beneath her shirt and lifted it from her body, barely breaking rhythm before he was removing her bra. He ran his hands over her breasts, fingers catching pleasurably on her nipples before shoving his palms beneath her body to lift her by the curve of her back. The position offered up her chest to him and left her vulnerable to his gaze as it exposed all of her torso and the arch of her neck. He tongued the meridian of her body, dipping for a moment into the hollow of her bellybutton, then caught the waistband of her pants in his teeth and pulled playfully.

Laughing, Camilla lifted her hips in supplication, her eyes closing as she felt him working the fastening and sliding the zipper downwards. The cool air of the room rushed along her thighs and between her legs as he hoisted the fabric from her body, tossing it aside carelessly. He sat back on his heels, admiring the view with a hungry expression, his hands tightening on her knees as he rotated them outwards. Camilla bit her lip and waited for him to take his fill, swallowing back the nervousness that suddenly wanted to billow up from her stomach. Clint released her knees and leaned forward to give her a peck on the lips, his weight shifting so that he could grasp one of her hands.

Holding her palm aloft, Clint folded down all but two of her fingers and pulled them between his lips to wet them thoroughly. Camilla gasped, her body curling a little at the sensation of his tongue flicking over her digits and rolling around the tips of her fingers. The sight of his mouth wrapped around any part of her body was pure sinful delight and the filthy pop that sounded as he slipped them from the wet heat rang in her ears along with her pounding pulse.

Carefully, Clint placed her fingers just below her public bone, pushing lightly at them until they were circling her clit. Hissing, Camilla followed his slow lead despite the urge to take action and bring herself to release as quickly as possible. The feeling of their entwined limbs giving equal effort in pleasuring her was explosive and again she wondered if this were simply a really good dream.

After ensuring that she was writhing beneath him, Clint adjusted his grasp on her hand and eased two of her soaking fingers into her entrance. He held them still while her hips tilted upwards helplessly, and then gave a quick jerk of his wrist, sending a sharp thrust inside. After a few more rapid imitations of that first gesture, he let go over hand and braced himself above her.

"Can you keep that pace?" He asked hoarsely, his eyes never leaving the juncture of her thighs.

Camilla nodded, unable to speak with her breathing so erratic.

Clint's eyes flicked up to her face briefly, "Then do it."

Not needing further instruction, Camilla set to work at the same pace and rhythm, tiny moans squeaking from her throat. She closed her eyes and thought about how this would be better if it were his hand moving inside her. His thicker, stronger fingers would be able to rub hard at the little nub high on the inner wall, forcing her squeeze him hard. Through her half-hooded eyes, Camilla watched him watching her, focusing on the way his throat reflexively worked beneath the sheen of his skin and how his tongue kept wetting his lips.

If she strained, Camilla could just see the line of Clint's erection as it rose beneath the fabric of his sweats. She wished that she could reach down and run her hand along the length, but he kept it carefully out of arm's reach. Without any other stimuli with which to occupy herself, Camilla had to focus on her own movements and how to show Clint exactly what he wanted. She twisted and arched, pulling her knees upwards to gain traction against the bed, but no matter which time honored technique she tried Camilla seemed to only reach so far.

Clint continued to watch her unspeaking, breath fanning across of belly as he knelt lower to get a closer look. Camilla's own lungs were burning with the need for air, her heart nearly stopping when he ran a hand down the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, veering off to slide his palm beneath the waistband of his sweats and grasp himself. The image burned into the retinas of her eyes, the crest of Camilla's orgasm rose sharply. It shook its way through her abdomen, skimming outwards until her skin broke out in a hot sheen that gathered near her pulse points.

So distracted was she in the wake of the volatile feelings coursing throughout her body, Camilla completely missed the pointed groan and hiss that signaled Clint was feeling much the same thing. He dropped his forehead to her belly, balancing carefully as both hands were pressed near his groin. Camilla touched his jagged hair, rubbing absently at the back of his neck while she tried to get a hold on her wayward self.

While she continued to lounge and stare at the ceiling, Clint rolled to standing and made his way to the bathroom. Camilla listened carelessly as the water ran into the sink, turning a little to ease the growing stiffness in her leg which had been lying still for far too long. Clint returned with a slow swagger, hopping over her to tumble on the opposite side of the bed with surprising grace. He levered his upper body to gaze as her with half a smile.

"Camilla?"

She hummed happily, pulling the sheet up over her shoulders to keep the chilled air of the room at bay.

"I may have to keep you."

Camilla laughed, patting his bicep, "Clint, I'd like to see you try."

Never one to settle unless he had the last word, Clint's expression turned decidedly roguish, "Challenge accepted."


	11. Chapter 11

**So, after this there's only one more chapter and an epilogue. Hold on, things are going to speed up. **

Camilla was coming to know that Darcy did not do boredom with any sort of poise and grace. The young woman was tearing about the living room after having drunk too much coffee, her dark hair swirling as she tried to engage Dr. Banner in a pillow fight. Camilla wasn't sure why Coulson was so jittery at the thought or why Jane was forcefully trying to pull Darcy away and quiet the girl. She watched with detached interest as Jane whispered furiously with Darcy, who only rolled her eyes and swatted ever more playfully at the shy doctor. Across the room, Camilla could see Natasha standing in half a battle stance that contrasted with the flickering laughter in her eyes.

When Darcy had, had enough of her fun, she sat tiredly next to Loki, who wrapped a long limb around her waist and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. He relaxed on the couch, piercing eyes taking in the details of the room and keeping an eye on the windows. Camilla watched him watching everything else, wanting to get inside his head and see what he was seeing. He was keenly perceptive, she found, and fiercely protective of Darcy. In return, Darcy refused to let Loki fade into the shadows in which he had become accustomed. She made him walk with her among their peers as an equal and with his head held high, made him recognize that he was just as important to her as she was to him. Camilla felt herself mentally agreeing with Darcy's strategy, confident that the girl would be well taken care of when Camilla needed to leave.

As had become the unspoken routine of the night in the building, they gathered around the television and watched a couple of movies that happened to be playing on cable. The wee hours of the night brought Camilla back to drowsing in the armchair, though she was proud of herself for being able to stay up to three am this time around. She had barely dropped off to sleep when she heard someone shout her name.

The room was dark, far too dark to be a natural phenomenon as even the usual blinking lights of the electronics had faded out. Camilla tried to shift in the chair, but found that she had nothing with which to gain leverage as she was surrounded by empty air. Eyes adjusting, Camilla realized that her body was suspended several feet above the coffee table, seemingly balanced by one arm that hung above her head. She tried not to panic, forcing her breathing to keep calm and even, but she began to see as the lights slowly returned several anxious faces all looking up at her. The grip around her wrist was tight, but not hurting, which she considered a plus. All in all, this was a pretty good start to a haunting in the night.

Twisting ever so gently, Camilla pointed her toes to try to reach some kind of stabilization on the table sitting tantalizingly close to her feet. Her sneakers only caught empty air, a disheartening but not altogether critical matter. She worked her wrist a little in an attempt to loosen the grip of whatever was holding her up, noting how it gave a little but managed to adjust in an unnatural way. With a sigh, she looked down to Lucy's stern face and shrugged.

"This is unfortunate," Camilla said, forcibly relaxing her muscles to hang like some comical ragdoll.

Will stood and reached up to tug a little on one calf, "You're pretty stuck there, Camilla."

Kenny blew out a breath, "Ya think? How do we get her down?"

Lucy pursed her lips, "We could try to break the entity's grip. Or we could throw holy water at her."

"Sounds good to me," Miranda chirped, already taking the cap off her designated jug.

Camilla sighed and closed her eyes, preparing for the dousing she was about to receive. The water fell over her in heavy drop that soaked the front of her shirt and pants. Absently, she was grateful for the dark colors as it would prevent any jokes about fearful urination.

The sound that followed her holy water baptism was inhuman and decidedly angry-slash-pained. Camilla winced as the grip on her wrist twisted and her body weight was shifted to fling helplessly across the room into a large glass display of trophies and awards. The glass cut against her body, slicing her skin and leaving angry welts where it had scraped roughly. She braced herself against the fall, rolling to her hands and knees and calling up whatever power she had available to the forefront of her palms. Pounding sounded against the walls and scratching followed in wild patterns across the floors. She recognized the skittering claws and high pitched growls as gremlins sent from Astar as a demonic gift.

Gremlins were shape shifting creatures with a taste for flesh and bone, particularly the flesh and bones of humans. They were common on the demonic plane, but could be called to the human realm as minions for devils such as Astar. Camilla had always thought they were nasty little things that were, admittedly, a little stupid and a lot mischievous. They could create a disaster zone in mere seconds and were known to start riots in large groups of people with very little effort. Their main weapons were their massive (relative to the size of their hand) claws and gnarly set of teeth. Hunting in packs, they could take down and strip a large mammal in about two minutes. Astar liked to starve his gremlins before a fight and Camilla could bet serious money that there were enough in this room to do some major damage if they cornered one of the team.

"Circle up," she called. "Backs to the center. They're trying to divide and conquer."

Moving slow, Camilla slipped up beside Will who vibrated with the tension of the upcoming battle. He was angled into a defensive stance, his hands held loosely up in front of his body, wide shoulders hunched a little upwards towards his neck. Behind her, Miranda peered out from over her shoulder, craning her neck to see what was going on. Will pushed her back sharply with a grunt, holding her in place for several seconds to emphasize his point.

The room was silent for a few seconds, Camilla's ears having to strain for any signal as to how the gremlins were going to attack. They were probably watching the team with as much intensity and scrutiny as the team was watching the empty air. It seemed completely unfair that they could disappear completely at will, could sneak up on even the most unfair. Camilla had learned long ago, however, that the demonic very rarely called upon fairness in a fight.

She leaned back and whispered to Miranda, "Can you work a little magic? We won't be able to fend them off if we can't see them."

Miranda nodded curtly, pushing her hands through the wall of bodies comprising the circle of fighters and murmuring a spell Camilla couldn't understand. What Camilla _could_ understand was the power emanating from Miranda's hands, pulsing between the Guardians in the room to pick up the latent power from their tattoos and scrambling outwards towards the walls. It moved in slinky flows up from the floor and over the ceiling, nearly dripping with the faint golden glow of magic. Camilla watched as it shifted over the air until there seemed to be a fog of magic all around, painting the atmosphere in twinkling gold.

It only took a moment, but eventually Camilla caught sight of a small body moving by the coffee table, shaking like some malformed dog in an effort to shed the magic. She smiled and nudged Will, whose mouth twisted into a sneer even as his hands flexed to pulse a bit more magic at the target. The little thing stumbled backwards and appeared to sneeze, gold flecks bursting from somewhere in the vicinity of its mouth. Camilla shook her head to still the laugh that wanted to bubble up from her throat, knowing that now was not the time to lose her focus.

The little burst of magic from Will's hands seemed to spur the others on and more movement of gold shifted around them, above them, moving steadily towards them in a pack. From the wall, Tony's suit shot forward and he was suddenly engulfed in mechanically advanced armor. She glanced to her left and caught sight of Thor readying his hammer in her periphery, his body blocking an ever curious Jane from sight. To her right, Will's body dipped lower in preparation for the oncoming battle, a fierce expression floating over his face.

She wasn't sure how it started, wasn't sure who actually started firing first, but soon she was being dragged and tripped and rolled by golden ephemeral beings that tore at her skin without mercy. Camilla took out a few with her internal power, resorting to elbowing one in the eye in order to keep it from taking off her ear. There was no telling how many of the gremlins were presently trying to take the group apart, literally limb from limb, but Camilla guessed that this would have been a small pack, no more than fifteen. Larger packs of gremlins were very nearly unmanageable and hard to control, even for a powerful demon such as Astar. Across the room, she could see the Captain using his shield for the first time, knocking glittering forms from his body and bouncing them to the floor to be pulverized by his fist. The concentration on his face only served to magnify his unnaturally good looks, giving him the air of a fierce warrior.

The whistle of an arrow rang out and Camilla ducked (unnecessarily, of course) when a gremlin was shot down from mid-air as it prepared to launch onto her back. She nodded silently to Clint, whose smile was bright against the golden fogginess of the room. His sandy hair was caked with the shining material, the leather of his uniform receiving a similar smattering of magic. Camilla was struck, suddenly, by how heroic he looked simply standing across the room, narrowed eyes looking for his target with practiced ease.

The fight lasted only about five minutes, but in that time, the group of participants did a hell of a lot of damage, even though some of it was actually caused by the gremlins. Below them, the floor was littered with the newly visible bodies of dead gremlins, the tile cracked under the weight of several of their most powerful death blows. Above them, the ceiling was spattered with gold-flecked blood and some other kinds of bodily fluids she wasn't quite capable of identifying. The coffee table was shattered, along with the trophy case Camilla had been thrown into earlier. It seemed that the only thing that had survived the destruction was the bar, of which Tony was now availing himself quite happily.

"Jarvis, I want this suit cleaned and waxed," he said as he poured a dark liquor into a wide rimmed glass. "I don't want to look like Edward Cullen when I go out next to save the world."

Darcy chuckled as she stood from the floor, "I'm not even going to speculate on how you know about Twilight."

Tony smirked, "You really shouldn't. It's exactly the opposite of what you're thinking."

Coulson grabbed a towel from the bar and wiped a dark smear of blood from his face, "I'm glad we can all make jokes at a time like this."

"Is there any other time?" Tony shot back, the dark liquor swirling as he gestured with one hand.

Camilla rolled her eyes and turned to the other Guardians, counting them off in her head as she assured herself of their safety. They all looked a little beaten, but standing tall and proud, a fact that filled Camilla with a pride all her own. Finally, she pivoted a little on the balls of her feet to look for Clint, wincing when a pain shot down the length of her leg and then back upwards to skitter along her spine. Confused, she leaned down and pressed her hand to the pain, pulling the digits back to reveal a dark mass of blood.

Feeling along the length of that pain, Camilla found a piece of glass tucked neatly into her thigh. Small, but sharp, it had pierced her without her knowledge and had sliced a gash into her leg that was now bleeding freely from the physicality of the previous few minutes. With a sigh, Camilla waved to Dr. Banner, who looked for all the world relieved to have something to do that didn't involve fighting. He hurried over, guided by her vehement pointing to the location of the wound. Peeling the edge of the fabric back, Dr. Banner grimaced a bit and looked up at her with these eye that were so clear and honest.

"You're going to need stitches." He turned and addressed Coulson, "I need a med kit."

Coulson's eyes flicked over to her before dropping to her bleeding leg, "Can you do it here?"

Banner nodded, "But it needs to be done easy. If she moves too much, the glass could rupture her femoral artery. It's at a safe distance now, but I don't want to take chances."

The knowledge of the doctor's statement sent an undeniable stillness to Camilla's limbs, tightening them until they ached almost as much as her leg. The adrenaline of the moment was wearing thin and the pain was increasing in a harrowing crescendo. Camilla eased backwards a little until she could sit down on the half broken sofa, her leg propped out in front of her. Dr. Banner went with her, motioning for hastiness on the part of Coulson, who was ordering a med kit from the AI.

"It must have happened when I hit the case over there," Camilla said, as if the explanation would do anything for her prognosis. Dr. Banner acknowledged her words, but didn't speak, his eyes far too focused on the wound. He didn't prod the skin, merely pulled at the fabric from different angles until he was satisfied that he had seen all there was to see from the outside.

Coulson arrived with the med kit, his hands already opening the small box and laying out the plastic wrapped tools. Banner dabbed at the ragged opening with gauze before reaching to grab a pair of blunted scissors so that he could cut a large hole in her pants. View unobstructed, Dr. Banner's hands were working carefully to ease the glass from her skin as she hissed and squirmed. Hands settled onto her shoulders, surprising her. She looked up, catching Clint's gaze as they left her face to examine the happenings surrounding her bleeding leg.

"Just a scratch," she said, trying to sound reassuring.

Dr. Banner laughed, "A scratch that I think will need twenty or thirty stitches just to close the thing up."

"I've had worse," Camilla countered, recalling a particularly nasty wound from a banshee three years earlier. The raised scar across her lower back was a reminder to protect her spine at all times. She leaned back into the cushions and watched the good doctor work, Coulson still kneeling next to him and handing over medical instruments with methodical correctness. Dr. Banner threaded the needle and then, poised above the wound, gave her one last look to ensure that she was ready for the bite of steel.

Camilla had been stitched up before, had been laid out on the medical table many times in her career, but she never quite got used to the way the thread moved through her skin. It tugged and pulled in strange directions, skimming along her nerves as it went about the business of sealing the cut. The pain was minimal in comparison to the original wound, a sharp lancing heat that seared and faded with quick, sure strokes of the needle. The doctor tied off the thread and applied an ointment and bandage, patting her ankle when he was done.

"You'll need to change the bandage tomorrow morning. I'll remove the stitches in two weeks."

Camilla nodded and eased to standing, testing out her weight on the injured leg with ginger movements. It held surprisingly well despite the increasing pain, not even trembling as she shifted more and more of her body over onto it. She nodded to the doctor in thanks, edging around the broken couch to check on the rest of her team. Lucy was berating Kenny and Miranda was using a nearly clean towel to wipe the golden flecks from her skin. Will looked positively giddy with contentment at the outcome of the fight and the subsequent use of his skills. Everything, it seemed, was as it should be in the world of the Guardians.

The bodies of dead gremlins littered the floor, some still bleeding across the tile. Jane was picking at one in fascination; her crystalline eyes alight with scientific curiosity. Darcy stood over her friend, nearly retching with the smell of the quickly decaying bodies.

"This is a sick, sad thing I'm seeing," Darcy quipped with a curled lip.

Camilla shrugged, "Pretty run of the mill for me."

Darcy shot her a sardonic look, "I bet your manicurist is the crypt keeper."

"Easter bunny, actually," Camilla retorted with a smile. "Fabulous color selection."

Darcy laughed even as her attention was diverted by Jane excited squeal of comprehension, the woman pulling Darcy by the sleeve to show her some discovery she'd made about the gremlins. Camilla didn't really understand Jane's interest, but wouldn't begrudge her the opportunity to pick at the body of something so wholly unfamiliar. She guessed that it was a rare thing for Jane to find something she'd never seen before, and this was a prime example of being confronted with alien life forms.

Knowing that there wouldn't be much more conversation with Darcy, Camilla moseyed on over to the bar and slid onto one of the bar stools. Tony was still in his suit, leaning against the counter with half a glass of—she sniffed—bourbon in his hand. His dark eyes flicked to her for a moment before he levered his body from the counter and reached over to pour her a glass of the same liquor. Camilla had to hand it to the man, he knew his way around engineering. The hands of the robotic suit moved with as much dexterity as and human limb, working with the delicate crystal carefully and precisely.

Camilla thanked him for the drink as he slid it across the table, receiving a curt nod in return. Tony eyed her as she sipped, the open helmet of his mask glinting in the overhead recessed lights.

"I don't suppose your agency will pay to clean all this up," Tony said, his casual tone belying his disappointment at the mess.

Camilla bit at her lip and sighed, "They probably will, if I can ever get a hold of them. I've left messages, called, texted, sent picture messages and haven't gotten a single response." She nodded to the Guardians across the room, "They haven't heard anything either."

Tony threw back the rest of his drink and refilled his glass, bouncing a little on his feet as he worked. "At least you don't have your so-called superiors dissembling your work at every turn."

"Your _work_ could potentially take down the whole city block," Coulson interjected as he, too, sat on one of the stools.

Tony scoffed, "I put in a fail safe."

Coulson's response was to raise a brow and loosen his tie, unbuttoning the first button of his shirt as he leaned both elbows against the counter. "Gin and tonic, if you please."

Though Tony looked peeved by the order, but he poured the drink, anyways, shoving at Coulson with barely a second look. Instead, he regarded Camilla, taking in her snarled hair and the cuts on her face that formed bites from small, sharp teeth.

"You look like hell," he commented, refilling her half empty glass.

Camilla smirked, "Well, thank you, Tony. I feel so much better about myself now that I have your keen observation."

"I'm just making conversation," he replied, lighted hands rising to be level with his shoulders.

"Well, you need practice," she said. "Maybe you could take a class or something."

From beside her, Coulson snorted, probably inferring how difficult it would be to teach Tony anything he didn't particularly want to know. Camilla could see a teenage Tony schooling his teachers in every class, burning them with sarcasm-laden witticisms and lacerating comebacks. She guessed that he was sitting across from the principle many times in his young life. As a woman who usually made every effort to follow the rules, it was an interesting change to see how often Tony simply did away with instruction and plans of correction by his superiors.

An hour or so was spent cleaning up the bodies, which were piled on the balcony and summarily set ablaze to prevent any further contamination of the house. The broken furniture and glass was swept to one side of the room to be dealt with in the morning. By the time they all piled into the pillow pit once again, the sunrise was only an hour or so away. Darcy, of course, took control of the one undamaged piece of electronics in the room, the television that had been safely tucked away into the ceiling. Camilla's leg ached, but she managed to find a comfortable spot that didn't put too much pressure on the wound.

When the sun finally began to rise, the group eased up from the pillows in a tellingly quiet manner that displayed plainly how tired they were despite the brevity of the fight. Camilla trudged towards her room, limping a little at the stiffness in her leg. She made it all the way to her door before she realized that she'd been followed. Clint prowled behind her at a far enough distance that it took him a moment to catch up to her stalled body. He ran a hand down the length of her back and reached forward to open her door, pushing her gently through it. While she worked her shoes and socks from her feet, Clint disarmed his body, lining up his weapons one by one on her dresser except for the pistol he pulled from a holster on his thigh which he laid on the nightstand.

Kneeling down, Clint grasped her thigh and peeled back the bandage to examine her stitches, his eyes lifting to her face. "Does it hurt?"

"A little," Camilla said, knowing it would hurt much more in the morning. "Like I said, had worse."

He replaced the bandage, "You fought on this."

"Yeah," she replied with a slight smile, "I actually hadn't noticed until after we got done."

"Camilla," he drawled in clear frustration. "You have to start taking better care of yourself."

"But, I got it stitched," she replied in an almost whining tone. "Look, taken care of."

Clint raised a brow as he stood, "That's not what I mean. You run into fights without thinking, you get injured without even noticing. One of these days you're going to die and not know it until you're at your funeral."

Camilla huffed, "Don't you think you're being a little melodramatic?"

The glare Clint sent her way was withering and pointed. His hands clenched a little, shoulders tensing with growing frustration at her willful argument. Camilla sighed and dropped her head to her chest, contemplating her twisted fingers sitting just above her fresh wound. It couldn't be helped that she was so often thrown into unpredictable and dangerous situations in which she had little to no control. Some of it was the nature of her job and some of it was simple bad luck. No matter how much effort Camilla may put into a strategy to stay away from evil, it would always follow her, attracted by the power of a Guardian.

Raising her eyes to Clint's face, Camilla tilted her head to the side and observed him in intense detail. From the tips of his disheveled hair to the scuffed leather of his boots, he was emitting this aura of concern and incredulous exasperation. It took her almost half a minute to understand why he was so adamant that she was putting herself in unnecessary harmful circumstances. The realization that his frustration was borne out of concern and that concern stemmed from the fact that he might actually _care_ about her. That thought, alone, was far more dangerous than any demon on the demonic plane. It was a curious, intriguing, and fascinating idea that the niggling emotions she had been trying to keep at bay for the last week or so may have the possibility of being returned.

Camilla spent the remaining thirty seconds of the minute collecting her suddenly nervous and shaking body and concealing the smile that threatened to blossom on her lips. She knew that her efforts were mostly ineffective by the dropping of Clint's brows over his narrowed and confused eyes. Carefully, Camilla stood and approached him, reaching up to pull him into a tight embrace. She held him for long seconds, waiting for his body to relax around her before leaning back and kissing him gently. Keeping the touch light, Camilla soothed the stress from Clint, using all the skills she had (which, admittedly, didn't amount to much) to guide him away from the negative feelings he was experiencing.

Slipping her tongue from between her lips to trace along the seam of his mouth, Camilla explored the wet warmth of him with small, restrained strokes. The teasing lilt of her kiss lured him out from whatever wall he may have been erecting between them in an effort to distance himself from his emotions. Now that she was aware of how he felt about her, unspoken or not, there was no way Camilla was going to allow him to back down from it. She was going to revel unrepentantly in this affection, no matter what form in which it chose to manifest itself. Kisses, hugs, touches, and gazes were all on the table to be hoarded for lonelier future nights. Memories were to be memorized and stored in the vault of her mind to be recalled when the high of his affection faded. It would be the only way she could survive finally leaving Clint when Astar was finally defeated, it would be the only way she could let go.

Bit by bit, Camilla led Clint back towards the bed, easing him down with her own body so that they were sitting side by side, the kiss unbroken. She then slowed the momentum to a near standstill, giving him the barest access to her mouth and body. Still so new to this kind of experience, Camilla could not move forward on her own and was working with the barest notion of what to do. Clint would have to take the lead, guide her to what was needed between them. Without his confidence to stand upon, she could not bring herself to move even the slightest bit towards him as she desperately wanted.

He looked at her with glazed, half hooded eyes, his face slack with lazy desire. Half a heartbeat later Clint was lunging at her, taking her down to the mattress and kissing her with wild abandon. He grasped her hips, hauling her further up on the covers before crawling over her and dropping his weight to press heavily against her body. Camilla groaned softly, her spine involuntarily arched against him to get more friction. The kiss rolled through her, stretching the limits of her skin until her toes curled against the fabric of her comforter. Even the ache in her leg faded in comparison to the rising desire pulsing from the very heart beating in her chest.

Clint released her briefly, peeling the layers of clothing from her skin with confident, cautious hands. He took a little extra time with her pants, his fingers touching the bruising and blushing stitches along her thigh. Camilla touched his arm to bring him back towards her, reaching downwards to strip him of his shirt. Tossing the cloth aside, Camilla took no time in working on the fly of his cargos, running the material off his hips. Clint wriggled comically for a moment, finally freeing himself of the garment with one final shove.

Camilla bit her lip as she observed him, lifting to her elbows in order to get a better look. She had noticed before that Clint was remarkably athletic—needed to be physically fit in order to survive the dangers of his daily routine. It had not, however, occurred to her that such physicality would manifest itself in so complete a picture of masculinity. Compact muscle wrapped around each limb, the skin covered in fine smatterings of hair that thickened as it dipped towards his groin. His erection strained hopefully towards her, a sight Camilla was curious to explore.

Her hands were the first to initiate contact, sliding down the length of him with movements that were more bravado than actual poise. Clint's breath hiccupped in his lungs as he adjusted his stance on his knees, spreading them slightly to gain more leverage. He let her touch him for a long time, eyes alternating between her face and hands. Then, just when she'd gotten the hang of the motion, he gently pushed her back and downwards.

Camilla whined softly, "I wasn't finished."

His answering murmur vibrated against her breasts, sending thrilling little shivers over her nerves. "I know, but there will be time for that later. I want to do this right the first time."

She raised a brow, "And here I thought I was the virgin."

"You know," he replied as he touched along the meridian of her body, fingers gliding sensuously along her skin. "I was going to go easy on you. You know, for the sake of your virtue. But, I think now I'm going to wrench every bit of feeling from your body." He leaned down so that his mouth was just barely brushing her ear, "I'm going to fuck you into this mattress until you scream."

Stunned and blushing, Camilla forced herself to look him in the eyes, "Challenge accepted."

Clint smirked for a moment as the light in his eyes darkened so dangerously that Camilla almost backpedalled into safer territory. She wasn't given the chance as Clint was already dropping open mouthed kisses all along her collarbone. He rubbed his lips over her skin, the blunt ends of his nails digging into her hips where he grasped them. Camilla undulated beneath him, pressing as close as she could to increase the sensation. He was at the same time sweet and fierce, his kisses followed by sharp bites only to be soothed with his tongue.

One hand dipping down, Clint ran the pad of a fingertip over her folds, spreading the moisture over the digit before slipping it inside. It was followed by the middle finger, the pair curling forward to press against the front wall and nudge the bud of nerves. She hissed, bending forward with the feeling, her knees lifting to accommodate more of it. He added a third finger, the feeling of stretching in her body veering towards pain. She twisted a little, trying to ease the ache as Clint whispered hushing noises against her throat. He told her to allow the pain to pass, that he would make up for it very soon.

Switching tactics, Clint pulled from her until just his fingers brushed her curls, tapping gently against her sensitive nerves. He circled the little nub with his thumb, the pressure at first light and then growing heavy. True to his word, Clint eased the pain from her until any other sensation barely registered. Camilla arched and pulled and clenched to get more of it, more of what felt so deliciously good. Clint, however, was having none of it, moving back to working the sensitive skin at her opening. Over and over he moved back and forth between offering her dulled (and, by all accounts, necessary) pain and soaring pleasure. Soon, Camilla wasn't sure which way was up or down. The whole world was one pulsing nerve of feeling that left her boneless and panting.

Half delirious, Camilla watched as he leaned away and examined his work. Seemingly satisfied, he reached over the side of the bed and grabbed his cargos, reaching into the pocket for a condom. She watched him roll it on, head tilted to the side in keen interest. Swallowing back her anxiety, Camilla welcomed him back into her embrace, pulling him close enough that the chill of the room couldn't help to penetrate the heat flowing between their bodies.

Carefully, mindful of her injury, Clint eased her hips open and settled down between them. He kissed her heavily, positioning her so that her body tilted upwards, trembling with the tension of holding herself in place. The tip of his erection probed gently and Clint tightened his hold on her thigh as if in silent warning, finally pushing forward with determined purpose. Camilla hadn't been lying when she said she'd experimented with toys in order to explore her own evolving sexuality, but most of them had been slimmer than Clint. His girth strained her skin, forcing little whimpers from her mouth that she tried to hide in fear that it would end.

Clint moved in very slow thrusts, changing the angle several times before he cupped her jaw, looking at her in earnest, "Let me in, Camilla."

"I'm trying," she replied, using every technique she could think of to loosen the clenched muscles in her womb.

He tried again, sweat forming on his brow with the exertion. The ground gained was minimal and Camilla had to close her eyes to hide her frustrations. Finally, Clint reared back and hooked her uninjured leg over his shoulder, spreading her wide so that he could drop further into her. The motion seared her, filled her, rocked her as her mind worked to grasp how it felt for her to experience this for the first time.

"I'm in you," Clint murmured, stroking her hair softly. He kissed her temple and held the position a moment more before squeezing the skin just above her knee and pulling out only to thrust forward. The repeated strokes grew steadily more intense, as if he wasn't quite able to get deep enough.

The pain dulled somewhat, though she knew she was going to be sore afterwards. Camilla slowly relaxed her body, focusing on the sight of Clint moving above her, the flex of muscle and the brush of perspiration. He was such a sight, his expression determined despite his breathlessness. She pressed a kiss to his mouth, rolling her body upwards to meet him. The resulting sensation was new, but acutely pleasing in that it zinged from her core up her spine to lie heavily at the base of her neck. She did it again, moaning as the feeling intensified.

In the kiss, she could feel Clint's smirk, his hips picking up the pace and twisting in this elegant motion that hit some hidden part of her that responded excitedly. It sent a rampant message to her brain for more, the mind telling her body how to move for maximum effectiveness. Camilla felt the burn of exertion running through her body, coupled with the still present uncomfortable sensation of stressed skin and the rising tide of bliss. The strange mixtures of competing sensations riled her so completely that Camilla could only grip Clint's shoulders hard and bury her face into the bend of his neck. He slipped his hands beneath her shoulders and yanked her forward, lifting her as he rocked back onto his knees.

"Your leg," he said hoarsely, "Am I hurting it?"

Camilla shook her head, unable to speak.

"Good."

And then he was pushing up into her hard, far harder than she should have been able to take, but her body allowed it unflinchingly. In fact, Camilla's body seemed quite happy to be grinding down upon him at such a furious pace, if the rhythmic clenching at the very center of her sexual being had anything to say about it. Out of breath and nearly out of her mind, Camilla bit down on the skin of Clint's shoulder to stifle the cry as she came around him.

With a sound of disapproval, Clint pulled at the sweaty and knotted strands of her hair, "I want to hear it."

Her cry was weak from exhaustion, but present nonetheless, and Clint seemed satisfied with the meager offering. He wrapped his hands around her hips and gave a few quick, ever more forceful thrusts, arching her spine backwards in that final moment so that her shoulders nearly touched the bed. Seconds (or eons, she didn't really care) later, he lowered her back down to the bed and pulled from her, dropping the condom off into the wastebasket by the bed.

Camilla pressed the heels of her palms to her eyes, trying to get them to refocus. She sighed deeply, feeling her heart still thudding in her chest, the adrenaline racing through her veins. Clint fell in beside her, one arm slung across her middle, pulling her to the curve of his body. Camilla went willingly, smiling to herself as they settled into a loose, but affectionate cuddle. As her body relaxed, the ache from their activity crept in, forcing her to shift and turn in order to remain comfortable. Clint's hand shifted with her, rubbing the muscles he could reach to ease some of the discomfort.

Humming gratefully, Camilla patted his stomach, eyes starting to droop despite her best efforts. She fell asleep thinking that she liked how Clint's scent seemed to be etched into her skin, reminding her every so often of their activities. Clint, it seemed, was perfectly fine with allowing her time to rest and recuperate, his palm still floating deftly along her skin.

**I always think that my writing style doesn't lend itself to really steamy love scenes, but I'm pretty okay with this one. I hope to have the final chapter and epilogue up by the end of the week. Stay tuned!**


	12. Chapter 12

**This chapter is slightly shorter than I would have liked it, but we're actually going to be bleeding over into the next story with the end of this one, so I'm more okay with it than I normally would have been. Yes, there will be another story in this arc-and, yes, it will be Coulson-centric. Enjoy.  
**

Camilla stood on the railed balcony overlooking the large and ornate calling glyph drawn over at least half of the training floor below. Miranda and Will had written it in a dark, magic infused paint that glittered a little in the overhead lights, a stark reminder of how powerful the exorcism would need to be against so dangerous a foe as Astar. She leaned on the railing, contemplating the many glyphs that ran along the perimeter of the circle, naming them off silently in her head as a mantra for balance and concentration. From above, as below, everything looked to be in perfect order. She only hoped that she hadn't missed anything important—or lethal—in her haste to get the calling and exorcism off the ground.

With a deep breath, Camilla allowed herself to truly think about the possible future without the threat of Astar hanging constantly overhead. If she were honest with herself, she wasn't sure what that life would look like in practice as opposed to imaginative theory. She supposed that once he was gone, she would go on working just as she always had, keeping up with cases that the council assigned her on a routine basis. Camilla also supposed that she would sleep a little better at night, though there might be a return of the nightmares from her childhood. They would be temporary, of course, and would fade once she assured herself that she had succeeded in destroying her lifelong demon.

Tapping an absentminded rhythm on the rail, Camilla rolled the idea of reinforcing the room with more protection spells around in her head as an afterthought. The idea had merit, but Camilla wasn't comfortable expending the energy to write the spells so close to performing the calling. What had been done over the last few days would simply have to do for the time being and the rest would be left to fate. Speaking of things done in the last few days…

Camilla smiled to herself as she remembered how quickly Clint could alternate between playful and sensual in bed—and in the shower, and over the arm of the couch. The list went on from there, their morning and most of the afternoon spent in a messy tangle of bodies and limbs. Camilla had taken so long to arrive (mostly due to Clint's incessant ability to disrobe her without so much as a thought) that Lucy and Kenny had returned to the market in order to gather the stones without her. She chuckled under her breath as she shifted her feet, tilting her head to the side while she considered the calling circle one final time, nodding in affirmation of approval.

The brush of heat centered down the curve as of her spine signaled that she was no longer alone and Camilla tensed only to have a very familiar grip wrap around her hips, pulling her inexorably backwards into the dark niche behind her. Clint eased her into the too small space, dragging her wordlessly into the shadows. They arranged themselves in the recesses, small specks of luminosity from the breaker the only light with which she could read the expression of Clint's face. He smiled, the stark white of his teeth gleaming predatory, before he dipped down to capture her mouth. As with most of his kisses, Clint took no denials, sweeping away her thoughts and her breath singlehandedly. He relentlessly dragged his tongue along her teeth and the small hollows, leaving her clutching his shoulders just to keep up with him.

Pressed so concretely into the wall, Camilla had little room to maneuver, but was able to slip her hands beneath his shirt to explore the ever more familiar dips and ridges of his chest and stomach. She rubbed shamelessly against him, feeling her body grow warm and her mind grow muddied with want. Flexing her hands, Camilla dipped her nails into his skin delicately, smiling with his answering groan, the sound vibrating between them.

Seemingly having had enough, Clint shrugged off her hands and shoved his palm beneath the waistband of her jeans and underwear, sweeping momentarily through her curls before curling them into her body. Camilla heard him curse softly even as he spread the moisture over her most sensitive nerves, wrenching a whimper from her lips. She gripped his biceps, dropped her head to the bend of his neck to pant audaciously against the fabric of his shirt, catching a little skin between her teeth. Noiselessly, she twisted her hips, gaining more friction.

Sounds drifted to her ears, Camilla knew that they were no longer alone and that her team had returned with the blessed stones. She glanced up at Clint, whose eyes were smiling brightly despite the firm line of his mouth. His fingers pushed deeper as his body crowded her space even further, leaving her on her toes and balancing on his hand and the upper muscles of his thigh. Control of her body completely lost to this man, Camilla leaned her weight against the wall and tilted her chin back, biting her lip as the feeling of orgasm crested over her.

Breathing ragged, Clint yanked his hand from her body and moved deeper into the shadows, slipping around a hidden corner. Again, she was pressed against a wall, Clint at her back. Using both hands, he worked the material of her pants down to her ankles in a careful motion that was mindful of her still healing stitches, kicking both feet apart and back until they were resting against the opposite wall. She heard him step between her legs and the crinkle of a foil packet before he was pushing the tip of his erection into her. Clint's motions were jerky, forceful even as he pinned her to the wall, his hips working himself deeper until he found a rhythm he liked.

Unable to move in her prone position, Camilla held herself steady on her forearms as she tried to keep herself quiet. Clint's hands were so tight around her waist that she knew there would be marks, his breath strangled in her ear. She felt him grow harder inside her, the feeling of being stretched dancing the line between pleasure and pain. Camilla hissed as his blunt fingernails scraped against her skin, his body stuttering as he came. Clint held still while they caught their breaths, his heartbeat pounding against her back.

Eventually, he released her, stepping away to arrange his clothes and to help her shaky legs back beneath her. Camilla smiled as he knelt to pull her jeans back around her hips, zipping and buttoning them with efficient movements. She eased her shirt back into placed, wincing a little at the soreness that would definitely be there for several hours. Clint checked the abraded skin where he'd dug in his fingers, surprising her by placing a kiss on each side. Then, he led her back to opening of the niche, pushing her gently back out into the near blinding light of the training room.

When she turned to speak with him, Clint was already gone, fading into the shadows effortlessly. She rolled her eyes and stepped further onto the platform, observing Miranda directing Will in the proper arrangement of the stones. Kenny stood off to the side with Lucy, arms folded across his chest as he murmured something that looked distasteful. Lucy responded in kind, her lip curling a little with the words before her gaze lifted and caught sight of Camilla.

"Where have you been?"

Camilla shrugged, "Busy. I see we got the stones."

Kenny returned her shrug with a listless one of his own, "And the orb, and the sage. I just want to get this thing over with so I can get back to my case. I've got a crossroads demon to deal with and this is cutting into my hunting."

Miranda laughed, "Hunting? That's what you call it? Last time I saw you, you were hanging by the scruff of your neck over a fire. If I hadn't been there, you'd have been burned extra crispy."

Kenny blanched a little, saying, "I was handling it."

They continued to bicker back and forth as Camilla climbed down to the floor level, their voices growing petulant with childish taunting. She smiled to herself, knowing that everything would get back to normal (as normal is it could get for Guardians) as soon as the night was over. Tamping down that tiny excitable part of her that wanted to jump for joy, Camilla sidled up to Lucy, who offered her a heavy bag. Glancing inside, Camilla nodded at the bottles of holy water that were absolutely necessary for an exorcism of this kind. Not only would they have to purify the room, but also their bodies and their minds. Without this process, Astar would be able to gather power from each Guardian and occupant in the room to manipulate reality into a pseudo-hell that would take considerable amounts of energy to dissipate.

Using a dedicated wand, Camilla sprinkled herself with the holy water, making sure to get the soles of her shoes and the back of her neck. She then moved around the room and doused the corners and seams of the walls, grunting a little as she reached for the ceiling. From behind her, Will grasped the wand in her hands and smiled, urging her away while he took on the places she couldn't hope to reach. Grateful for the help, Camilla turned to see Tony, Dr. Banner, and Jane entering the room with curious expressions.

"I'm not certain you should be here for this," Camilla called out.

Tony raised a dark brow, "And miss the show? Not a chance."

Lip curling, Camilla replied, "This isn't a game, Tony."

"And this isn't my game face," Tony said lowly. "If it happens here, I want to know how it goes down."

Glancing to his companions, each of whom looked equally determined to be present at the ceremony, Camilla felt herself relent reluctantly. "Just… have Lucy get you prepared. You need to take some safety precautions."

"Of course," Dr. Banner murmured, herding the other two scientists away with quiet force, his keen eyes checking the pair for signs of stubborn willfulness. Camilla watched them flinch with each swath of holy water, smiling as Tony checked his hair afterwards. Turning her attention to the door, she very nearly sighed with the entrance of Natasha and Steve, Darcy trailing along on their heels with Loki at her side. It appeared that there would be a serious audience for this exorcism—shame, as Astar had a penchant for acting for his victims. She could see him now creating an elaborate ruse or display of power for the sheer fun of showing off.

The illumination of room was dimming as the sun set, the fluorescents automatically adjusting for the lack of natural light and replacing it with artificial radiance. As the sun continued to dip lower, Camilla could feel the tension in her team rising in preparation for the calling. Lucy checked and rechecked her data on her phone, Will stretched his muscles, Kenny ran his hands through his hair until it settled into an unruly mop over his brow. Miranda was the only one who seemed even the most remotely calm, cool, and collected. She stood at her designated point of contact for the calling circle, arms crossed over her chest and staring off into the center of the room. Camilla wondered how she would take her first calling and exorcism. Miranda was so young, and so fresh from training that this could rattle her resolve to the detriment of the whole team. But, then, Claire would not have sent her without being sure of Miranda's readiness.

Claire… Camilla still had no idea where her mentor was and why she hadn't shown up for this. Astar was one of Claire's first cases and he haunted her in an off-hand way, though Claire hadn't received the sigil to Camilla's knowledge. The gatekeeper was most likely entrenched in negotiations with the council, but Camilla couldn't shake the idea that something had happened to the woman. Claire had a compulsion to check in on her team on a regular basis whether by phone or by message. It just didn't make sense that she would disappear so close to another round with a demon they'd faced together three times before.

With a firm jerk of her head, Camilla dismissed her thoughts, raising her eyes to the ceiling and catching sight of Clint settled into a high outcrop on one of the walls, quiver at his back and bow collapsed by his side. He returned her look, winking playfully. Camilla dropped her eyes, stemming the blush from her cheeks as best she could despite the fresh rush of memory. She really did like the man far too much. Camilla liked his hands, his mouth, and the heart he wore so readily on his sleeve. Clint had endeared himself to her so solidly that plans to maintain the relationship were already springing up in her traitorous mind.

Lucy dropped her phone on a weapons table, shaking Camilla from her thoughts, and addressed the room, "I think we're ready."

"Not quite," Coulson said, appearing as if from the shadows of the entryway. "Jarvis."

The AI clicked and whirred around them, and the walls began to move, shifting and locking into place so that the room became an impenetrable box of solid steel and iron. Then, obviously having garnered a few tricks courtesy of Tony's insatiable curiosity, markings shimmered into place. Camilla recognized them as protection symbols from an ancient Sumerian tablet the Guardian kept safeguarded in the vault and she wondered just how he'd gotten access to it. With narrowed eyes, she observed the suited man, concluding that still waters did in fact run deep.

The cuneiform brightened until the room was lit in every corner and nook, completely eviscerating any hint of shadow.

"Very cool," Camilla heard Will murmur with a soft, appreciative whistle. She had to agree, Jarvis was something she hadn't yet learned to use as an occupant, but she was sure she'd miss it when she left.

Lucy stepped into place at her point of contact, waving everyone else towards the circle urgently. Camilla followed her lead, bracing both feet shoulder width apart so that, in case of a magical pulse, she could keep standing at the very least. Around her, the Guardians lifted their hands, their tattoos beginning a telltale glow that signaled the ritualistic amassing of power. Camilla, too, lifted her palms and felt her body hum with the increase in influence, the magical signatures of each of her teammates working with her own until the calling circle radiated with an unsaid spell. At her feet, one of the quartz stones reverberated with the magic, echoing it and harnessing the spell into the glyphs around the perimeter. The glyphs, for their part, merely sizzled into action, bleeding power towards the center of the circle where it pooled.

The center calling glyph, the symbol Oliver had assured them would be the destruction of Astar, gathered the magic into itself, growing more bright and powerful by the second. Camilla glanced across the way to Lucy, who gave a small nod. Taking a deep breath, Camilla recited the calling of the demon, using Astar name often and with purpose, until she felt the center of power open up the gateway to the demonic plane. As expected, Astar climbed through the floor, easing himself to standing with an unsettling smile.

"I'm so happy to have received an invitation to this little soiree," he said with a laugh. "I have been waiting for you most impatiently. But, perhaps this party would be better if taken elsewhere, hmm?"

Camilla narrowed her gaze, suddenly very aware that something just wasn't right, and began the exorcism recitation, speaking quickly enough that she may be able to prevent his offensive attack. Astar's smile grew, revealing several rows of sharp, angular teeth.

"Shall we?"

And then the circle began to break apart, fracturing the very foundation of the floor, the stone exploding at her feet. Camilla held her palms in place, working to keep the magic flowing until it faltered around Miranda, her body dropping to the floor. From there, the room began to shake, weapons flying from the walls to lodge themselves in the floor, wind blowing Camilla's hair around her face. Pain seared up her body from her feet as the magic bounced back from the center glyph and into her body, sending her several feet backwards with the force of the blow. The lights so carefully controlled by Tony's AI went dim, leaving only the power to illuminate the room. Camilla heard yells and voices as she tried to stand only to be knocked back to the ground mercilessly. Something grabbed her ankle and yanked hard enough that she felt the fabric of her jeans snag on claws.

Try as she might, Camilla couldn't wriggled free of the grasp, her palms digging into the floor to keep from being thrown to the side. Rolling to her stomach, she arched back a little, seeing Clint's boots hustling towards her. As he neared, she was dragged backwards into the circle, her vision fading to almost complete darkness.

Around her, Camilla could hear ragged breaths and a few very human groans of pain. She braced herself against a floor that felt like broken rock, pushed shakily to standing. "Hello?"

"Camilla?"

_Oh, God,_ Camilla thought. _Darcy._ "I'm here," she whispered, her voice hoarse.

"And me." Kenny. "Lucy's right here."

"Me, too," Will called out through a groan. "Miranda?"

"Here," Miranda said, her voice high pitched and tight. "Where is here, actually?"

Camilla peered out into the darkness, her eyes slow to adjust to the change in light. When they did, however, her gasp was so loud that it echoed in the small alcove.

"We're in the Other," She sobbed, feeling her fear rise. It couldn't have happened worse, couldn't have gone so wrong—they were so prepared. Camilla recounted their movements, recounted the calling and the stones… the orb sitting in the center. Everything had been in place, all the glyphs written correctly, even extra protection around the room. She wracked her brain for an answer and came up short, scrambling for nothing but straws in the explanation of how they were able to be moved into the other so easily and without so much as a preamble.

Will eased towards the opening, already sitting low into a defensive stance. He peered out into the empty plain, his neck craned to see through the fog.

"Guys, I think we got a problem."

Rushing over and huddling around the opening, they each took in the blazing fire in the center of the Other, the flames licking high and reflecting off the four towers. Around her there were a bevy of curses, some whispered, others pushed out forcefully through growled voices. She closed her eyes against the sight of Astar launching more wood into the fire, stoking the heat until it billowed out in fierce waves that could be felt all the way into their tiny alcove. They had to get out of there, quickly, and preferably unscathed.

Stepping out onto the plain, Will signaled them forward, pushing back against the wall and moving out of the alcove with silent steps. Camilla followed, keeping one hand over Miranda's torso. Concern fired in her mind for the youngest of them all, worsened by the ferociously terrified look on the woman's face. This would be one hell of a learning curve if they made it out alive, and a lesson Miranda wasn't likely to forget in the future.

One by one they lined up, moving away from the fire and away from the demon standing with his back to them looking on to his creation with satisfaction. Will had just made it to the far corner when Astar suddenly turned and fixed them with a snarling grin. Camilla felt her breath still in her lungs, her heart pounding in fright and realization of the fruitlessness of their escape.

"Do come forward, I can hardly see you from here," Astar called in a soothing voice. When not a one of them moved, he merely waved his hands, yanking the group from the wall and dragging them forward.

Camilla struggled to sitting as she came to a sudden and powerful, wincing as the rock cut into her hands and back. Astar barely spared her a glance, moving first to Lucy. He produced a chair, a solid illusion of magic, from the air and set Lucy upon it, binding her with power, alone. This process was repeated along the line until he reached Camilla, his gaze assessing.

Kneeling before her, Astar touched the ground beside her, "Welcome back, darling."

She very nearly spit at him, but held her body in check, allowing only a glare to grace her features as she waited for his next move.

Astar took it in stride, hefting her bodily over his shoulder and rolling her onto some kind of table that sprang up in a cloud of dust from the ground. Camilla struggled as much as she could, kicking out at him and biting with her front teeth, nails scraping and scratching and tearing at his skin. Astar merely chuckled, back handing her just hard enough to make her dizzy. She was shackled to the table by the fire, the heat searing her feet through the heavy soles of her boots.

When, finally, Astar approached Miranda, he reached down and pulled her up to standing, holding her hips to his side with one hand. "Shall I explain?"

Lucy hissed, wrenching her body against the bonds fruitlessly. Camilla closed her eyes yet again, going through whatever mantras she had learned in order to calm herself for the coming fight. She could get out of this, would get out of this, and everything would be okay—she just had to think. Astar escorted Miranda around the circle of the fire, admiring his work, until he stood before Camilla.

"I do so love to see you bound, Camilla."

She sneered, "I can't wait to murder you."

He laughed, full bellied, "Likewise, darling." Then, "I should explain, though, as a courtesy. I do hope you'll understand that little Miranda here was no easy conquest."

Camilla's jaw dropped, her body stilling to near stone as she turned her attention to "little" Miranda. The girl looked back at her without expression, whatever soul she had darkening in proximity to Astar. There was nothing left of the fresh faced Guardian in her body, that part of her seeping out to the air as if it had never been present. _How_ had Camilla missed her deception?

"You betrayed us," Camilla croaked. "Why?"

Miranda shrugged one shoulder, "Astar says he can get rid of the marks."

Camilla glanced down at the marks that graced her traitor skin, grieving over the sacrifice of her position as a Guardian to someone who could be bent to the will of a demon. Had she only been strong, had Miranda only been trained more vigorously, the whole of the Guardian team (plus one innocent potential) would not be bound by Astar in the middle of the Other.

Astar's smile was triumphant, "As I said, no easy conquest. I assure you that I had to work very hard to bring Miranda over to my side. I do so love sharing her at parties, such a pretty little prize."

Bile rose so forcefully in Camilla's throat that she had to turn her head to keep from choking on it, the mess spilling over her lips onto the table beneath her. She heaved several more times, eyes blurring with tears as Astar stepped away to display Miranda to the rest of the group.

"How shall I reward my little Guardian?" He asked, glancing around at them. Turning to Miranda, he assessed her carefully. "I know just the thing. I'll send her home."

Miranda had no time to react before Astar had her head between his hands and was tearing it from her spinal cord, the blood surging forth from her still pumping heart to spill obscenely over the ground at her booted, kicking feet. Camilla stared in morbid fascination, her eyes flicking around to gather the reactions of the others. Lucy looked satisfied, Will had closed his eyes, and Kenny was spitting into the dirt. Darcy, however, was still working at the bonds over her hands, using the weight of the chair to ease herself over the edge. Camilla hid her smile, knowing that there was hope for Darcy—and possibly herself—yet.

Astar gazed down at his handiwork with glee, his hands dripping with blood and gristle from Miranda's skin. Camilla could see that his hollow eyes were reflecting as black pools in the light of the fire, the sight dropping her stomach low. Her temporary relief was dashed all to pieces as she realized Astar was not quite done and had no plans of slowing down. Bound as she was, she had to crane her neck to watch as Astar circled around to Kenny. From her sideways vantage point, Camilla saw Kenny's eyes widen half a second before Astar reached forward and tore his nails through Kenny's windpipe. His whistling, desperate breaths gurgled for what seemed like eternity as the blood rushed forward over his crisp shirt to the dirt below.

Unbidden, Camilla felt tears form in the corners of her eyes, the salt burning a trail down her cheeks into the hair at her temples. She screamed in rage, yanking at her bindings until her wrists were scratched and bleeding. Pulling hard, Camilla slammed back and forth, trying to do anything that may possibly save what was left of her team, her fear and frustration mounting as Astar approached Will. As he moved, Camilla was struck by the stark difference between Will's strong, healthy body and the gaunt frame of Astar. Head to head, they may have been an even match were it not for the nullification of every Guardian's power in the Other. Faced with yet another death, Camilla turned her eyes skyward, flinching with the bone crushing weight of Astar's strike.

The demon moved once more, and Camilla heard Lucy speak so clearly, so confidently, that there was no ignoring the woman's words.

"I've seen a lot of demons in my day, Astar, seen a lot of killings," Lucy began. "I hope you understand that we play both sides of the same coin. You may have won here tonight, but someone _will_ hunt you down and lay you low."

Astar chuckled darkly, "That may be true, Lucy dear. But, as you say, not tonight."

Camilla heard Lucy's hiccupped gasp and she couldn't help the turning of her neck. Astar held Lucy by the jaw, opening it until her lower mandible cracked and separated from her body. Dropping it carelessly to the side, Astar shoved his arm down her throat and ripped a mass of entrails from her body, holding them aloft like some kind of morbid trophy. Next to Lucy, Darcy sobbed, still trying to wrench herself free.

Astar dropped the mass of dying muscle and knelt down next to Darcy, saying, "Ah, Darcy, you pretty little thing. I've been wanting to meet you."  
"Up yours, dickwad."

Smiling, Astar rose and circled her, tapping her shoulders, "Such bravado in the face of ultimate death. I do applaud it. But, then, I haven't given you my gift."

From seemingly out of thin air, Astar produced a very familiar box, setting on the ground at Darcy's feet. He opened it and pulled one of the nails from its resting place, holding it for Darcy's inspection.

"As I understand it, you were expecting my precocious Guardian to save you," Astar sneered. "Look at her, she can't even save herself."

The demon stood, pacing the length between Darcy and Camilla, holding the nail at the ready in front of his body. Camilla squeezed her hands into tiny indignant little fists, forcing her eyes to stop crying and her body to prepare for action. Astar approached lazily, smiling down at her with what could have been mistaken for affection. If gravity hadn't been out of her favor, Camilla might have finally given in to the impulse to spit at him.

"I'm so glad we could finally congregate like this," Astar grated at a near whisper. "It will be so sweet to have finally finished you after all these years." He reached down and petted her hair, "And think, when I have your soul, of all the fun I'll have ripping you to pieces. Night after night, for the rest of my eternal life. Oh, bless my black little heart."

Camilla closed her eyes, opening them on a scream as he dug the nail into her ribs. She felt them crack under the pressure, felt the searing pain of blood pouring from her body. He lifted the nail carefully, placing the sharpened tip on the next set of bone down and pressing in the same way, the nerves all along her body groaning with renewed pain. Tears leaked from her eyes and she made no effort to check them, too caught up in the fact that her very breath was stolen from her lungs, the heavy organs refusing to inflate properly.

Astar shushed her softly, nails digging into her chest at her shoulder, "You'll want to save some of that screaming for what's next, darling."

He lifted from her briefly, settling the nail down along her thigh and pushing it through the material until the mark at her hip was revealed.

Leaning down, he murmured, "I can't wait to feel you from the inside again, to walk in this gloriously fleshy body once more."

Eyes widening, Camilla's horror grew until it eclipsed the pain of her ribs and physical form, drowning her in the realization that Astar would send her once more on a frenzy of blood and murder. With the harvested souls in his body and the growth of her internal power, the chaos he could accomplish would be exponentially increased in comparison to her twelve year old encounter with possession. Astar would destroy Darcy, any being in the Other, and then move back to the human plane to take out… everyone in the training room.

"I will enjoy forcing you to obliterate the little world you've created—I've watched you with them, watched you grow to like them. That whole building will be mine in less than half an hour." Astar smiled, "Actually, it will be ours."

Those hollow eyes peered down at her for another moment before a sick slice of metal, bone and flesh sounded from just behind him. Camilla watched that hollow expression grow fierce and snarling, the veins in his forehead darkening with a distinct sizzle. He turned, finding Darcy standing behind him still working the nail of Christ into his flesh.

"Not in my house," Darcy growled, brows drawn tight over her sneering expression.

With a yell, Astar flung out an arm to knock Darcy to the side, her dark hair spilling forward over her face. The hand on Camilla's chest raked sideways, slicing her body and forcing more founts of blood to the surface.

Panting, Camilla watched Astar burn from the inside out, his demonic form slowly destroyed by the purity of the nails and the divine blood steeped into the metal. She might have smiled if the blood loss hadn't caught up with her, blurring her vision until all she could make out was the orange dancing flames of the fire and Darcy screaming at her to stay awake.

More hands laid on her and a soothing voice called out, asking her to stay with them. Camilla forced her eyes open, looking up into Claire's worried, urgent face.

"I'm here," Claire said, "But you have to stay with me. Stay with me, Camilla."

The bindings around her joints lifted and Claire hefted her off the table to the ground, activating an unseen glyph to bring them out of the Other. There were more voices and fluorescent lights above her head and a flash of Clint's sandy hair. And then she was resting, too tired to move a muscle.

Many things fell into place during those moments between consciousness and unconsciousness. First, Astar was quite possibly finished, having succumbed to divine power. Second, Claire was not dead and had arrived at the last second (something she would discuss with the woman as soon as she regained the ability to speak). Third, Camilla needed a vacation, a real vacation. Fourth, she wanted to invite Clint along, possibly to explore more of that chemistry between them. Fifth, with four of six Guardians now dead and Darcy the closest potential, there would be more to train. Sixth, Camilla had several ribs broken and deep lacerations all over her chest and body—she had never felt better.

**Stick with me, there will be an epilogue.**


	13. Chapter 13

**A change in perspective-we're seeing the aftermath through Claire's eyes.**

Claire sat heavily in an uncomfortable armchair beside the hospital bed. Her heeled feet tapped an uneven rhythm while she stared at her phone, angrily reading yet another summons from the Council. In front of her lay Camilla Paige, oracle and Guardian. The encounter with Astar had left most of Camilla's torso damaged and two ribs broken—she had survived, thankfully. Claire wasn't sure she would ever be completely free of the guilt she felt for failing to break free of the seemingly endless meetings and summons that dragged her away from handling what should have been her number one priority.

Now, with four of six Guardians dead, one half-trained potential, and the search or the next batch of trainees looming over her, Claire yet again considered retirement. She dropped her head into her hands and sighed deeply, wondering how long Camilla would sleep. Claire needed her awake, needed to know the details of how Astar had managed to get the better of a whole room of more than qualified fighters. She had seen the calling mark, had pushed through at least seven magical markers before managing to make it into the Other only to find bloodshed. Having long ago become acclimated to the sight of mutilated bodies, Claire barely spared them a glance other than to make identifications. Her concern became saving the life of the young girl scrambling to standing and Camilla, who was strapped to a ritually marked altar.

There were many things rustling in the dark, had been whispers of an ancient evil rising behind Astar's playful ruses. Camilla checked the gate daily now, activating the dying glyphs as often as she needed to in order to maintain the balance of magic in the room. Without a full staff of Guardians, there was no way she would be able to hold the gate closed for long. Claire's thoughts turned to the one Guardian who could step up to the challenge, lamenting the loss of someone so talented. The council had been firm, August was to remain in prison for the rest of her natural life—and a far worse judgment had been passed for the time when August died.

Footsteps down the hall snapped Claire back to reality, forcing her to sit up straight and to smooth the wrinkles in her blouse. After a moment, Agent Phil Coulson and Agent Clint Barton entered to room, Clint's body angling towards Camilla to check her chart. Claire watched him closely, understanding in some way that Camilla had shared some kind of bond with the agent before entering the Other. It was a question Claire hoped to never be forced to investigate by the council. Camilla needed her privacy just as much as anyone else, Claire knew that deep in her soul.

Turning from Clint, Claire observed Agent Coulson standing with his hands folded in front of him, his demeanor cold, aloof.

"Do we know when she will wake?" Claire asked, determined to gather more information.

She received a stern look from the man, "Soon."

Claire was barely able to check the urge to roll her eyes as she stood, circling the hospital bed towards the door. As she passed Agent Coulson, she gave a delicate nod that he should follow. Out in the hall, Claire turned on him with as stoic an expression as she could manage.

"I know you hate me right now, but I have lost my entire team, save for Camilla. I am trying to be courteous and give this agency as much as I can without disobeying direct orders of secrecy. The least you can do is work with me a little."

His eyes were glaring and his mouth was pressed into such a firm line that Claire heard his teeth grind a little. "Understood."

And then he was turning from her, striding away with determination and purpose. Claire wished that this was the first time she'd seen those shoulders purposefully straightened and those hands clenched so tightly as his side.

**Okay, I'll be taking a few weeks to draw up the storyline for the next sequel. Hold tight, and I'll have the first chapter to Queen Takes Rook up in a bit. Much Love, and thank you so much for going on this adventure with me. **


End file.
